


wake my spirit cold

by colonelcatastrophe



Series: wake my spirit cold [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelcatastrophe/pseuds/colonelcatastrophe
Summary: Klaus discovers his powers when he’s nine years old.It's pretty much downhill from there.





	1. chapter one: the world outside

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I haven't read much of the comics; this is mostly headcanon about the Netflix series' characters. Will update the warnings/tags as the chapters progress.
> 
> This was inspired by the scene in episode 4(?) when Klaus sees the ghosts as actual people. They just sort of pop up in the motel room. So I'm running with that. I adore the potential for exploring sibling relationships between Klaus & Diego, and Klaus & Ben, and Klaus &... everyone, so that's where this is going, eventually. 
> 
> Title from a Tall Heights song that screams Klaus Hargreeves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific trigger warnings in the notes at the end.

Klaus discovers his powers when he’s nine years old. 

It’s a fall morning, the chill of the wind whipping down the sidewalk, their uniform jackets flapping in the breeze as Father ushers them down the sidewalk to the car. The stretch from the front door of the Academy to the car; the only stretch of freedom they’ve experienced on a regular basis. Twenty, thirty feet, max.

They knew, of course, that not all children were kept inside, constricted to their mansion and courtyard. From their bedroom windows on the upper floors, they could look out into the street, see the other children laughing down the road, pushing each other into puddles when it rained. If they climbed onto the roof, they could squint and see a city park in the distance, and they could make out the tiny figures running through the grass. They knew that most children in town went to the public school, from the reports every so often in the daily paper about who had won the spelling bee, or how the tennis team was doing in their sectional tournament. 

Klaus, in particular, found himself imagining what school was like. It wasn’t the education he was concerned about, really; he could learn fine on his own from the curriculum of books and research assignments that Pogo gave them to keep them occupied during the week. But the _social_ aspect of school intrigued him. He was always a sociable child, eager to chatter away at whoever would listen. When Vanya began to pick up the violin at age seven, Klaus would pester her with good-natured questions about music until she sighed and answered him just so she could get back to her practice. Ben, who was always just as enthusiastic as Klaus, debated with him for hours over what they should choose as their names, back when they were still only 00.04 and 00.06. Klaus found himself drawn to Diego, too, feeling protective over his brother when Number One decided to taunt him about his stutter. Klaus didn’t feel the need to talk her ear off of Allison, which made her special; he was content to spread out on the end of her bed, both of them pouring over magazines that Mom had lent them to look at. 

Luther and Number Five never bothered much with Klaus - the former was too devoted to the Cause (or, whatever grand ideas he had about the future of their Cause, anyway) and the latter was notoriously difficult to amuse. So if Ben and Vanya and Diego and Allison were all busy… well, Klaus was left on his own. And with each of them slowly discovering their abilities and being given special training sessions by Father, Klaus’ sense of isolation was only increasing. 

He’d brought it up with the others once, when all seven sat around the table in their basement kitchen, quizzing each other on division tables. “I wonder what real school is like.” They didn’t discuss it at length - that was never the Hargreeves style - but Klaus’ innocent suggestion planted a seed that began to grow in each of their minds. A simple _what if._

That very seed ruminated for weeks. They knew their Father had good reason to keep them at home, especially once they had begun to exhibit signs of extraordinary abilities. They had to be trained properly, and their abilities studied so that they could do what Father dreamed for them: saving the world. Helping people. But still… what if. 

It was Allison who had been the one to ask at supper, once. Her voice had broken the silent table, interrupting the quiet ticking of the clock and the scraping of metal forks against porcelain. “Father… have you considered letting us go to school with other children?” 

Number Five had jumped in immediately, his tone confident. “I agree with Number Three. If we’re meant to save the world, we need to learn what the world is like.” 

Their father had barely lowered his newspaper to acknowledge that they’d spoken. “There is no need for to unnecessarily engage with the mundane. You will receive your education here, as you always have. When the time is right, you will engage in your first missions, and you will learn the ways of the world then. We do not have time for distractions. Do not bring it up again.” 

His tone left no room for argument. The rest of the meal continued in silence.

And that was the end of that. 

The only bit of the world they get to see - the only freedom they have - is the walk from the house to the car, on those rare occasions when Father sees fit to transport them somewhere off-property for testing or training. It’s nothing new, the sidewalk. There’s no view from the steps of the mansion that Klaus hasn’t seen a thousand times before from his bedroom window. Even the feeling of the wind on his face is the same wind he meets in the courtyard, behind the walls. 

But in the _car_ \- a whole new world lies beyond the rolled-up glass windows. Klaus always wheedles his way away from the middle seat, as his number would designate, to a seat next to the windows. He presses his fingers against the edge of the door and his forehead against the glass, eyes wide, drinking in the sights of the tiny shops and the dog-walkers and the elaborate architecture of the courthouse and the motorcyclists zooming in and out of the lanes. 

Today the car is taking them to a scientific facility, somewhere to further test Luther’s strengths and see just how far he can push his powers. Normally, it would be Luther alone, but Father had brought along all six others this time, so that they could see what they might do if they too applied themselves like Number One. (Luther had absolutely _preened_ over breakfast. Klaus didn’t mind; if it meant an adventure outside of the house, he didn’t much care about the reason why.)

The facility is only half an hour away, on a good day - they’ve taken drives there before - but the traffic today is overwhelming. The car is at a standstill, bumper-to-bumper, but since the partition is raised between Father and Luther in the front seats and the other six children in the back, numbers two through seven have the opportunity to do what they like. 

“Ouch, Diego.” 

“Well, if you would just move _over_ I wouldn’t have to keep kicking you.” 

“Shut up, I’m trying to read.” 

“Who wants to play _I spy?_ ” 

Klaus tunes out his siblings’ bickering and continues to stare out the window, doing his best to peer into the windows of the cars in the next lane over, trying to glean some sense of what life is like for them. What it’s like to live outside of the Academy. 

Sirens suddenly pick up in the distance, growing louder and louder. The cars begin to slowly shift right inch-by-inch and soon the siren scream past, flashing lights flickering in their wake. Ten minutes later, the traffic finally begins to pick up, and their car steadily begins to move, until it slows to a stop again, this time due to the red traffic light, and Klaus realizes what the sirens were for. A mangled heap of metal lies in the lane to their left just before the intersection, surrounded by a stopped truck, three police cars, and an ambulance. 

There’s a man standing next to the crumpled bicycle, his face and shirt covered in blood. Wailing. He begins to pace, limping, clearly in agony. But despite the police officers swarming the scene, no one is paying him any attention. It’s like they don’t even care. 

Klaus elbows Diego next to him, unable to take his eyes off of the gruesome scene outside the window. “Why is no one helping him?” he asks, curious and semi-distressed. 

Diego leans past him to get a better look. “Who?”

“Him.” Klaus points at the man. 

“I don’t see who you’re talking about,” he replies, losing interest and turning back to talk to Number Five, on his other side. 

“How can you miss him?” Klaus asks in frustration before rolling down his window. He’s not supposed to - and he doesn’t doubt that his Father will roll down the partition to scold him in about three seconds - but he can’t stand that no one is _helping that man._

“Hey!” he shouts leaning the upper half of his body out the window as Diego struggles to pull him back inside. “Why don’t you do your job and _help him._ ” The cops ignore his cry, but the injured man doesn’t. He whips his head towards Klaus immediately, locking eyes with the nine-year old boy. 

Allison reaches back from the seat in front of him to forcibly roll up Klaus’ window as Klaus continues to writhe. The traffic light turns green and the car takes off, continuing down the street towards the facility, the poor man left behind, still ignored. “They can’t help whoever got hit,” she tells Klaus, annoyed. “Clearly it’s too late or the ambulance lights would be on.” 

Klaus slowly settles back in his seat, unsatisfied. The man had been there. 

Why did everyone pretend he wasn’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mild ghost-related blood/gore and also general warning that Reginald Hargreeves is a terrible parental figure.


	2. chapter two: the voice in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific trigger warnings in the end notes.

The rest of the trip is uneventful. Once ushered into the facility, six bored faces nod from above, behind the window the observation deck, as Father instructs Luther to throw and catch heavier and heavier weights, meticulously marking down every interval. He manages six hundred pounds this time. 

It’s all very exciting for Luther. For the rest of them, the afternoon’s only purpose is to just kill time until they can get back in the car and begin the journey home.

The mangled bicyclist all but forgotten, Klaus watches in amusement as Number Five pops in and out of reality on either side of the cold metal bench they’re all parked on, above the testing zone where Luther is preoccupied. “See if you can land on Diego’s lap,” Klaus stage-whispers, when Five lands next to him on the bench with a plop. 

“I’d be surprised,” drawls Diego. “His aim’s not as good as mine.” 

Five simply frowns and pops out of sight, reappearing just as suggested, on top of Diego’s knees for a split second before being unceremoniously shoved to the ground. Klaus sniggers. 

Five can do that - move from place to place in a single instant. He can’t take any objects with him, but he at least stays clothed now; the first few times, even his clothes got left behind. _That_ was a sight that none of them wanted to experience on a repeated viewing. 

Many of the Numbers have manifested abilities by now. Luther, and Five, and Ben, of course. Ben, who had monsters writhing sickly under his skin. While the others were eager to find out what special talents their minds and bodies had in store, Ben’s was… different. Instead of calling his ability to the surface, he’d been forced to practice the opposite, for years now: how to keep the tentacles, the claws, the _horrors_ inside. 

(The others didn’t quite understand how much Ben hated the monsters, feeling like he was just the mask for something so much stronger than he was, that his skin was paper that might just… disintegrate, one day. Or stretch so far that it couldn’t be pulled back in. Ben was _afraid_. Klaus wouldn’t have understood, either, until one night, when he’d poked his head into Ben’s room and found him shivering on the floor, pressed up to his closet door, his chest _wriggling_ with the effort of keeping them contained. Klaus had frozen at the sight, not sure whether to run and get Mom or Pogo or… someone… until Ben had told him to _stop making that face and just sit down already_. Cross-legged on Ben’s bed to keep watch over his brother, for once in his life, Klaus had kept his mouth shut. Instead, he _listened._ He always tried to listen to Ben, now.)

So Luther, Five, and Ben are _well_ aware of their skill sets. Two others are on the right track but haven’t narrowed it down to a science yet. Diego’s aim, whether with a deadly knife or something as simple as a jellybean, is nearly magical, though Father is certain there’s more to it than just being able to aim weapons. They’re still working on exactly what else, though Diego certainly won’t mind if it was _only_ weaponry. Allison, too, has managed to showcase uncanny levels of persuasion, especially when starting rumors, but sometimes it just… doesn’t work. The popular theory in the house is that there’s a specific key phrase she must use, that she’s managed to use accidentally on the occasions that it _has_ worked; Father relentlessly drills her every day to narrow down what that phrase _isn’t_ to try to pinpoint what it _is_.

Only two of them are still blank slates, yet to show any particular extraordinary abilities, as far as they know: 00.07 and 00.04. They’re only nine years old; there’s still plenty of time for something special to rise to the surface. It’s only a matter of time. Klaus hopes that he’ll be able to fly, for one, but thinks his may have to do with ice; his skin is always so _cold._ He knows Vanya wants her power to have to do with music. She, too, knows that’s wishful thinking, and assumes hers will be something to do with invisibility. She’s so easily ignored, after all. The two of them have discussed it, huddled together over the kitchen table while the others were off completing their own individual trainings. They came to the conclusion that they won’t mind whatever their powers end up being, as long as they manifest at all.

After a few hours of testing Luther, Father calls up to the other children to come down from the observation deck. They dutifully parade down the stairs and back out into the car to head back home to the Academy. 

It’s only later that night, when he’s already tucked away in bed, that Klaus remembers the injured man from the street earlier. He can see the man’s face _so vividly_ in his swirling world of dreams, the blood dripping from a deep gash in his temple, his right shoulder jutting out at a wrong angle, his eyes piercing Klaus’ as he’d stared out at him from the car window. The dream begins to shift, as dreams often do - but not before Klaus hears a soft voice, as though it’s coming from far away, underwater. 

_**“Help me.”** _

Still half-asleep, Klaus flips over in bed, pulling his covers up higher around his shoulders. He begins to sink back into the depths of his dream-world when the voice repeats its plea. This time, he can tell through his sleepy stupor that the words are coming from a _physical_ place, just above his bed. Maybe it’s one of his siblings. Slowly blinking his eyes open, he unthinkingly turns over to see who it is. 

When his eyes adjust to the darkness a few moments later, he stifles a shriek. 

The mangled bicyclist stands above him, bruised and battered, cradling a bloodied arm against his chest, one that Klaus can now see is sliced to pieces, bits of ripped skin dangling towards the floor. 

_**“Help me.”** _

The man drops his twisted and bloodied limb, and with his good arm, reaches out towards Klaus. He scrambles out of reach, instinctively drawing backwards against his headboard while fumbling for the light on his bedside table. In his panic, the porcelain lamp clatters to the floor with the tell-tale crash of broken glass. 

The man doesn’t step forward, and Klaus doesn’t move back - there’s nowhere to go. They both remain motionless, stunned into a standoff of sorts, until the sound of Ben’s quiet shuffle breaks the silence. 

“Klaus? I heard a crash,” comes his brother’s drowsy voice from the bedroom doorway. 

_“Don’t come in here,”_ Klaus instantly replies, his voice high-pitched and strained with tension. “There’s broken glass on the floor.” And an injured man who somehow managed to get past all of the Academy’s security precautions. One who must have followed Klaus home. Oh, god. _Why did he follow Klaus home?_

In the dim light streaming through the window, he can see the shine of the man’s eyes, both horrifyingly empty while still somehow conveying an unspoken desperate plea. 

_**“Help me.”** _

Ben doesn’t seem to hear the man’s words. “Stay in bed, then. Don’t move. Let me get a flashlight and the broom.” He begins to shuffle away down the hall. 

Klaus shifts his weight in the bed, tempted to call Ben back and beg him to _not leave Klaus alone_. Instead, he looks up and addresses the man for the first time, forcefully. “Don’t think about trying anything. My brother can kill you in an instant. _Two_ of my brothers, actually, at the very least. You wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

The man doesn’t deign to respond to his threat, only stares and shifts his weight from foot to foot. Klaus swallows nervously. He would run for the door, but Ben was right - with all of the broken glass, unless Klaus’ unmanifested power was super-healing, all that he would achieve would be to track bloody footprints all over the house. More than what the man must have dripped all over the carpet on his way up here, anyway. 

A distressed noise escapes Klaus’ throat as he tries again. “How am I supposed to help you?” What he clearly needed was a doctor. “Why didn’t you hop in one of the ambulances?” There had been at least one, out on the street. And if the man had a _concussion_ or something, he really shouldn’t have been wandering around. Klaus was surprised he hadn’t collapsed already. 

_**“They can’t help me. No one can. Only. You. Saw me.”**_ The man’s voice is hoarse, stilted. _**“I saw you see me.”**_

“Yeah, I did, _obviously._ ” Klaus is impatient, his voice growing louder and stronger. “But that doesn’t explain what you want me to _do._ ” He’s just a kid. He’s not a doctor. How is he supposed to help this guy? 

The man _**screams,**_ then. The sound that pours from the man’s mouth is a deep wail, so chest-deep and _loud_ that it leaves echoing overtones through the room. Klaus throws his hands over his ears in defense, knowing now that there’s no chance the rest of the house will sleep through this. 

“I got the broom.” A flashlight beam cuts through the room, the man’s scream continuing as Ben walks over to the edge of Klaus’ bed. He doesn’t remark on the noise but instead simply shines the light on the hardwood floor. “Wow, what a mess. Here.” With the dustpan tucked underneath his other arm, Ben holds out the broom out towards Klaus handle-first as though nothing unusual is going on. “I’m not going to clean it up for you. Go on.” 

Klaus, his hands still pressed tightly over his ears to try to dampen the sound of the man’s desperate shriek, doesn’t reach for the broom. He flickers his gaze back and forth in confusion, from Ben’s now-bewildered stare to the man’s face, open-mouthed and clearly in agony. 

Why hasn’t Ben asked about the man’s presence in his room? And the sound… the sound must have reached every corner of the mansion by now. Why hasn’t anyone else come running? 

“Klaus?” 

Klaus screws his eyes shut, but although he can hide the man’s face from his view, closing his eyes still doesn’t block out the sound. “Make him go away,” he whispers in desperation. 

Ben’s puzzled, oblivious words cut him to the bone. “Make _who_ go away?” 

That confirms it. Ben can’t see the man, can’t hear him. Klaus cries out as he curls further into himself, pressing his hands against either side of his skull _so_ hard that he’s surprised his head doesn’t collapse in on itself. His breathing begins to pick up speed until it’s coming only in sharp pants. Distantly, he can hear Ben repeating his name, he can feel a hand gently touching one of his arms. 

This can’t be it. This _can’t_ be his power. Either he sees people others can’t, or he’s going insane. Neither seems like an ideal outcome. Still panting in panic, Klaus opens his eyes just a sliver, just a peek. He has to make sure. 

The bloody figure is still there, hovering behind Ben’s worried gaze. The man’s eyes harden as his scream shifts into something _angry_. His jaw drops and begins to contort itself, stretching into the vision of an unearthly _monster,_ directing all his rage towards Klaus, a nine-year-old child with no clue how or _why_ he could ever be able to help him. 

Ben stands helplessly amidst the broken glass as Klaus closes his eyes to block it all out, his own fretful shriek escaping him and mingling in his ears with that of the ghoulish houl. He continues to scream, wordlessly, slowly depleting his lungs of air. More footsteps stumble into the room, a cacophony of voices bleeding into the background, but Klaus pays them no mention as his consciousness begins to flicker. 

Then, blessedly, it all falls away into a void of darkness and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for what is essentially an anxiety attack, and also mild ghost-related blood/gore.


	3. chapter three: the immediate aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a piece of garbage, so here's a third chapter in a day. What else is new. 
> 
> See end notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Klaus comes back to consciousness an indeterminate amount of time later. He hears fuzzy voices in the distance as he slowly blinks, twisting and turning in discomfort as his heart returns to its typical resting rhythm. 

He can see that the hallway lights are on, streaming into his room and illuminating the crowd of faces there. All of his siblings are pressed into his room, clamoring explanations. He sees Pogo, to his left near the window, just behind where Ben hasn’t moved, though the broom is nowhere to be seen - someone must have swept up the glass already. And there’s Father, staring at him sternly from the foot of his bed, as though he’s done something reprehensible. He _did_ wake the house, but the sense of his Father’s disdain seems to stem deeper than that. 

Someone holds out a glass of water in Klaus’ sight-line. He turns towards the right side of his bed to see Mom’s kind face. After the initial shock of discovering her robotic nature a few years ago, he’s never minded. She has the same caring demeanor she's always had, whether or not she’s made of flesh or electronics. 

He takes the offered glass of water and sips it with shaky hands. Dizzily, he tries to count the heads in the room. Still only one more than _should_ be there. In the back of the room, behind his crowd of adopted family, stands the bicyclist from before. His features have returned to their original state, just bloody instead of… inhuman, and he stands quietly now. But he’s still there. 

Klaus takes a shuddering breath and looks away. 

“Number Four, explain yourself,” Father commands, loud and impatient and cutting through the chaos of the room as the other children quiet themselves.

All except Diego. “S-s-stop it, Dad. C-c-can’t you see he’s s-s-scared?” he demands, revealing his genuine concern for Klaus through the return of his stutter, which he could usually keep under control by now. Diego pushes his way between Allison and Vanya to plant himself next to Mom. He reaches out to firmly pat Klaus’ knobby knee underneath his bedsheets, as if to give him some sense of physical comfort. 

“...’s okay,” Klaus mumbles. 

“Didn’t sound like it. You were screaming bloody murder,” Five observes from near the doorway, blank-faced. 

Father narrows his eyes but doesn’t take his gaze off Klaus, as if to pin him down for examination. “Unless your name is _Number Four,_ you do not need to speak. As I have already said three times: explain yourself. Do not make me ask a fourth time.” 

“I…” Klaus finds himself at a loss for words. How can he explain that an injured man had hitchhiked home with them, somehow? Hours after their car had passed by him on the street? And that apparently, he’s the only one who can see him? 

He presses his lips together, trying to breathe deeply through his nose. With the free hand not holding the glass of water, he runs his fingers through his long hair, unconsciously tugging at the strands to try to ground himself. “Four,” his Father warns. 

Klaus takes one more breath, then releases his hair, his hands settling uncomfortably in his lap. “There’s a man. I think he got hit by a car, or it looks like it, at least. I saw him in the road earlier, on our drive. He must have followed us home. I woke up and he was here, in my room.” 

A beat passes. Questions flicker on everyone’s faces. Klaus watches as recognition flashes in Allison’s eyes; Luther shifts and looks around the room intently, as if to go into fighting mode; so does Diego. Ben, on the other hand… “You didn’t say anything,” he murmurs under his breath, clearly hurt that Klaus hadn’t told him when he came in earlier. He only shrugs helplessly, not sure how to explain that it wasn’t worth bringing up, not when Ben had clearly been entirely oblivious to the man’s existence. Just like Diego and Allison had been earlier, in the car. 

Pogo clears his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “There was no sign of an intruder on the security cameras. I checked them on my way up here, immediately after your noise.” Noise. What a nice euphemism for a lengthy, blood-curdling shriek. 

“I know, I… don’t know how he got in,” Klaus says, trailing off uncertainly, before braving a glance to that back corner of the room once more. Piercing eyes meet his, and he begins to trip over his words. “No one will… you’re gonna… well.” 

He sighs before deciding to cut to the chase. “Ben couldn’t see him earlier. But he’s. Uh. Still here. Right there.” He lifts his arm and with his still-trembling index finger, points to the corner. Everyone steps to the side and turns almost in unison to look at the corner of the room by Klaus’ closet doors, where the man stands now, his blood still dripping on the floor with every passing moment. 

Another beat passes. 

Vanya speaks up carefully. “Klaus, there’s nothing there.” 

She looks at him with sympathy, and it makes him feel something other than fear for the first time that evening. He feels _angry._ What does Vanya have to feel sorry for him about? He’s not… _hallucinating,_ or anything. He couldn’t make up that horrific noise in his mind even if he’d tried. He couldn’t be hallucinating. Right? “I know you can’t see him, but I promise I’m not making it up.” He glances around the room in desperation, his fingers twisting in the sheets on his lap. “He’s _right_ there.” 

“Didn’t figure he’d be the one to turn out crazy,” Luther mutters. 

Five steps forward to slap Luther’s arm harshly. “Uncalled for.”

Father, on the other hand, doesn’t react right away. 

He simply walks, calmly and deliberately, around the side of the bed, past Ben and Pogo, until he stands directly above Klaus. He waits until Klaus looks up to face him, anxious for judgment. 

The sting of the slap comes before Klaus even sees him raise his arm. 

Klaus’ eyes water with the force of the blow and his neck twitches with a sharp pain. He bites his lower lip to keep from crying out. In his peripheral vision, he can see that Luther, Five, and Vanya are still watching on, as if in solidarity. Allison and Ben both avert their gazes. Diego looks to Mom, as if she will do anything to stop the Reginald Hargreeves’ fury, but she watches on, too; the only sign of her recognition is the slight wavering of her ever-present smile. 

Klaus doesn’t begrudge any of his siblings for their inaction, or for their silence. It’s common knowledge by now that there’s nothing any of them can do that will allow them to escape the Hargreeves method of discipline. 

When Father finally speaks up, he speaks coldly. “Your over-active imagination will not earn you any accolades, Number Four. This evening’s dramatics are clearly a cry for attention, and one which I refuse to indulge. I will take the rest of the evening to consider an appropriate punishment. Everyone else, back to bed. Some of you have real work to do in the morning.” Father’s lip twitches upwards, the shadow of a sneer. 

Klaus’ jaw drops, aghast. Father thinks he’s making it up. They’re all going to think he’s making it up. He wants to cry out that _it’s not dramatics,_ that he’s not… there were better ways to get attention than _this_. But the anticipation of a second slap - or worse - keeps him silent. 

Father waves his hand to usher them all back in the hallway, striding past them to exit the bedroom. Mom and Pogo follow, before the six other children begin to trickle out as well. Diego squeezes Klaus’ knee once more before he leaves, and Ben gives him a sad nod as he crosses in front of his bed. 

The man, however, doesn’t move. 

It’s then that the panic begins to set in. Klaus scurries to the edge of his mattress, reaching out to grab the pajama sleeve of the closest sibling, which happens to be Vanya. “No, please,” he says, his face paling with fear, “Don’t leave me here with _him.”_

“Father’s already outside,” she whispers, gently tugging her arm from his grasp, but she doesn’t abandon him entirely. Instead, she cups the side of his face carefully, her hand cool against the hot skin of his slapped cheek. He can see her hesitation as she attempts to find the words she’s searching for. He reaches up and circles her wrist with his thin fingers, holding her like a lifeline. “Try closing your eyes. Alright? Whatever you think you see...” Vanya trails off slowly before shaking her head. She extracts herself from his grip and kisses his forehead sweetly. “He can’t hurt you if you can’t see him. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

_“Number Seven,”_ comes their Father’s sharp, impatient voice from the hall. At his reprimand, she slips towards the door. Klaus reaches for her once again but falls halfway out of bed and onto the floor in a heap. The door shuts, shrouding the room in darkness. 

He screws his eyes shut once more, as Vanya suggested. What else can he do?

He can hear the scraping of a key in the lock of his bedroom door, imprisoning him until the morning, or longer. He can hear his own stuttering breathing. He can hear the bicyclist begin to repeat his earlier theme. **_"Help me. Help me. Help me.”_**

Klaus’ eyes still closed, he reaches up and pulls his blankets down to the floor where he sits propped up against the mattress, using the bed as a barrier between himself and the man’s endless refrain. 

He doesn’t sleep that night, but he doesn’t scream again, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: child abuse (slapping a nine-year-old), derogatory claims about mental health (someone calls Klaus "crazy" in a derogatory manner), mentions of ghost-related blood, and light gaslighting. 
> 
> Just your standard cheery fare.
> 
> Feel free to comment & let me know which sibling dynamic you'd like to read more of in future chapters. Keep in mind that I'll be keeping it Klaus-centric for the most part.


	4. chapter four: the unexpected ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific trigger warnings in the end-notes.

The night drags on, and on, and on. 

And yet the bicyclist-stalker-man’s voice still continues. Unceasingly. That’s not to say that it doesn’t alter occasionally. It vacillates in various degrees from pleading desperation to bitter anger, and sometimes it grows closer, as if the man is standing _right next to Klaus._ He doesn’t open his eyes or attempt to respond. He just pulls his covers up over his head and tries to ignore him. Who knew a single night had so many hours? And who knew that an hour could stretch on for so many minutes? And who knew that when you were locked in your room, pestered and threatened by an invisible man or a hallucination or _whatever_ you might call it, but _none_ of your family believed you, a minute could feel like a lifetime? 

After all, _he_ never knew, not until now. 

A different tone finally breaks through the monotony. “Hey.” 

_Five._

Klaus tosses off his covers instinctively, his head poking out from the cocoon of his own making, but throws his hands over his eyes before he can look. _He can’t hurt you if you can’t see him._ He shudders. Why is he so afraid of the man? He hadn’t tried hurting Klaus yet. He just… _sounds_ so terrifying. Especially when Klaus had only wanted to help him before, from the car… 

“I said _hey_ ,” Five repeats a little louder this time, nearer to his face. Klaus can feel the warmth of Five’s body settle onto the floor, next to him. He guesses that they would be eye-level if both boys had their eyes open.

Klaus nods slowly. “Hey.” His voice is still slightly hoarse from his earlier outburst. He wonders what his brother is doing here. He had never considered them to be close, not compared to Klaus’ relationships with some of the others. Five had always been so serious, as long as Klaus could remember. There was nothing about Klaus that Five _ever_ found particularly endearing, as far as he knew. 

But for some reason he was here. 

“I popped in earlier. I don’t think you heard me.” 

The revelation gives Klaus pause. “Did you say anything?” he asks, surprised. Was he so out of it that he ignored Five before, without even realizing? 

His question is met with silence. 

Then… “Oh, I was shaking my head. No, I didn’t say anything. Watched you for a bit, though.” 

Klaus isn’t sure how he’s meant to respond. “Okay.” He drags the word out, trailing off in confusion.

“I’m here to tell you I don’t think you’re doing this for attention.” Five states his observation bluntly. “You didn’t know anyone was watching you, but I could see you were still shaking. And you were mumbling to yourself.” 

Had he been doing that? That would (maybe) be a (slightly) worrying sign. But regardless, relief washes over Klaus. For once, he finds himself thankful for Five’s oddly mature sense of pragmatism. Of _course_ Klaus wasn’t doing this for attention. Why would he embarrass himself by screaming like a _baby_ and passing out in his own bed? If he was going to do something for _attention,_ it would have been something awesome. Not making up a story that only made him look like a coward. (He _wasn’t_ a coward. He would wager a guess that anyone would have been a little bit freaked out at a bloody stranger appearing randomly in their bedroom.)

Five continues. “I don’t know if the others think you’re lying or not. We didn’t really chat. Everyone went back to bed straight away.” 

“He’s still here,” Klaus blurts out. “He hasn’t stopped talking. I think it’s ‘cause he knows I’m the only one who can... hear him.” 

“Where is he now?” 

Five’s tone is clinical, detached. Klaus can tell that while his brother may not think he’s lying, exactly, that doesn’t mean that he believes that the man is actually there. But he doesn’t know how to convince him. There’s no evidence, nothing concrete to act as proof. He frowns, then answers the question based on the location of the man’s ranting. “He’s… by the window now. Behind me, behind the bed.”

His brother only hums in response. Klaus hears the floorboards creak as Five stands, his voice coming from above his head now. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe everything will be back to normal by then. Either way, tomorrow I’ll do some digging. See what I can find out.” 

“Do some ‘digging’? What does that even mean?” 

“I don’t know. I read it in a detective book and thought it sounded apt for the situation.” It was such a _Five_ thing to say that Klaus almost smiles. 

Before he pops back off to who-knew-where, Klaus can’t help but ask. “You couldn’t… uh… let me out, could you?” If he could just get away from the man, maybe lock _him_ in Klaus’ room by himself, he could finally get some rest. 

“No, I can’t let you out. I don’t know where they keep the keys.” He sounds genuinely apologetic. “And if I’m being honest, I don’t know that I trust you to be wandering around right now anyway.” 

Klaus swallows hard. That’s fair, he supposes. Especially considering that, according to all logic, Five probably assumes he’s having some sort of mental breakdown. He can’t fault him for coming to that conclusion. At least it’s better than thinking Klaus is lying. “Well, can you at least tell Ben that… I’m sorry? That I didn’t say anything to him earlier, when he came in the first time? Or, hold on, even better idea - convince the others I’m not lying?” 

“You can tell Ben and the others yourself in the morning,” Five replies evenly, after a long pause. “Like I said. We’ll figure it out. Night, Klaus.” 

Klaus doesn’t hear him disappear, but in the depth of his chest he feels his absence from the room - because the only life he perceives in the room now is his own. 

That, and the eerie shadow of the bicyclist, who has finally gone silent. He’d grown used to the sound of the man, and now that it’s gone, Klaus isn’t sure whether to feel at ease or perturbed that something worse was coming. Even with his eyes closed, though, through the silent room, Klaus can _sense_ that he’s still there. He takes a deep breath and removes his hands from their shield across his face, opening his eyes. Twisting himself around on the floor to face his bed, he peeks up over the edge of his mattress, towards the window. The man is still there, just like he’d thought, his facial expression inscrutable. 

He steels himself. Five believes him, sort of. The others will, too. He just has to last until morning. “I’m gonna get back in bed now.” He slowly reaches to grab his blankets from the floor before getting up on his knees gradually, like the man is a wild animal that might attack if he moves too quickly. “Then I’m gonna go to sleep, and if you could stay quiet for a few hours, like maybe two or three, that would be great. And tomorrow we’ll figure out why I’m the only one who knows you’re there.” He makes the declaration with confidence, using the kind of voice that Diego does when he argues with Luther, like if he sounds sure enough of himself, others will have no choice but to listen.

The tactic must work, because while the man doesn’t nod to comply, he also doesn’t complain as Klaus crawls under his covers. Exhausted relief overtakes him. He’s far too aware of the stranger to be able fall asleep in his presence, but at least he’s in his bed where it’s warm, and it’s finally, _blissfully_ quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mental health issues (Klaus assumes Five thinks he's crazy). That's the only trigger warning for this chapter, I think, but I've been wrong before. 
> 
> As I said in the last chapter - hit me up with a comment about what sibling dynamics you want to read more about, if you have a preference. 
> 
> I have very strong feelings about Klaus & Diego, Ben, and Vanya that'll all be hit on in future chapters, though in what order, who knows? Not me.


	5. chapter five: the answer in front of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific trigger warnings in the end notes.

The sound of a metal key scraping against the lock later that morning jolts Klaus from his stress-ridden stupor, and he catapults out of bed. The wooden door creaks open to reveal Mom, standing in the hallway as pressed and tidy as ever, key-in-hand. “Good morning, dear,” she says with a smile. 

Father must have given her the key and permission to finally let him out. Klaus sprints straight into her, reaching up to wrap his childish limbs around her middle as he clings to her legs and buries his face in her cotton skirt. “G’morning,” he mumbles in relief, his voice muffled by the fabric that smells equally of rosewater and mechanical oil. 

She strokes the back of his head, her deft fingers easily combing through his unruly hair. “Your brothers and sisters are in the basement finishing up breakfast. You may join them, if you wish.” 

He nods and releases his grip on her legs, taking a deep breath before dashing down the hallway at a brisk walk. Not at a run. He wasn’t going to _run_ from the man in his room (who was, unfortunately, still lurking). However, he _could_ otherwise attempt to avoid him as quickly as possible. 

Klaus takes the stairs two at a time as he clambors from his room all the way down to the bottom level of the mansion, out of breath by the time he reaches the basement floor. He grabs the railing of the stairs and pauses for a moment to collect himself before casually walking into the long room that doubled as a kitchen and a rec room. Attempting to re-collect as much personal dignity as he could after the events of the previous night, he enters the room and scans for today’s empty seat. 

They have assigned seats at the supper table upstairs, but here, they tend to cluster in groups. Luther and Allison had immediately established some form of breakfast-dominance at the far end of the table and no one ever bothered to fight them for it. Five always eats next to Luther, though only because it’s closest seat to the refrigerator. Diego sits next to Five on the same side of the table for the same reason, and because then he doesn’t have to deal with Luther (they’d never gotten along well; it was best if they stayed separated, with Five acting as a handy buffer). 

Ben, Klaus, and Vanya, on the other hand, usually take the seats across from Five and Diego. They have to squeeze three chairs in the physical space meant for two, but they make it work; it also allows the flexibility to switch places whenever they feel like it. Sometimes Klaus sits closest to Allison, and sometimes he and Vanya flip-flop and he takes the seat on the end, with Vanya next to her sister. 

Today, it’s the chair on the end that’s been left open for him, with Ben next to Allison. Klaus grabs the empty porcelain bowl sitting untouched at the place of the leftover chair and hesitates for a split second. (If he sits here on the end, closest to the hallway with the stairs, it will be easier for the man-from-his-room to sneak up behind him). He walks away from the empty chair and elbows himself in between Allison and Ben. “Budge over, will you?” 

Wordlessly, Ben picks up his plate of scrambled eggs and nudges Vanya, who scoots into the empty chair on the end before _he_ takes _her_ seat, leaving Klaus with a place nearer to the middle of the table. Everyone continues to eat in uncharacteristic silence as Klaus pours himself a bowl of corn flakes from the box already sitting out in the center of the table. He picks up his spoon and idly taps it against the tabletop while he looks from place to place, testing to see which of his siblings will make eye contact with him first. 

It seems pretty obvious that no one wants to say anything. Maybe they don’t want to give him the _attention_ that their Father hastily assumed that he was seeking. His heart drops at the thought. Or maybe they just don’t know what to say. At least he knows it’s not that they don’t care about him. They always care. Even if they don’t always show it in the most conventional ways. Apparently, their way of showing that they care _this_ morning is to pretend like last night didn’t happen.

Klaus looks to Five helplessly, who does finally glance up from his own cereal. He lifts his eyebrows at Klaus, as if to say, _go on, then._ No help from Five, then. Alright. He shoves a bite of corn flakes in his mouth and swallows them dry before speaking up, loudly. “About last night…” 

Unfortunately, he is interrupted by the split-second appearance of the bloody bicyclist, directly behind Diego and Five, right in front of the refrigerator. 

_**”You can’t keep ignoring me,”**_ the man growls.

 _“Shit,”_ Klaus curses hastily as he drops his spoon in surprise, knowing that Mom would tell him to wash his mouth out with soap for using that kind of language but also equally aware that there were bigger fish to fry right now. “Can’t I eat my breakfast in peace? Go away,” he hisses. His eyes widen as the man takes a threatening step towards Klaus. 

Then he keeps takes another step and keeps walking. Right through the table. 

All of Klaus’ fear from last night - the fear that was lessened by Five’s midnight visit and Mom’s caring hug - it all comes rushing back even stronger than before. 

“Me?” Diego frowns. 

Klaus stands, unceremoniously knocking his chair to the ground in the process. The others stand as well - though whether to reach out and stop him, or go run to get Mom, or just because everyone else was now standing, he doesn’t know. Klaus begins to move away from the table, his gaze locked with the man, taking slow steps backwards towards the wall of the basement. For every step he takes backward, the man matches him with a menacing step forward. “No, Diego, not _you_.” 

He’d come out of _nowhere_. He could walk _through_ things. Does the man have powers of some kind, too? Maybe like Five’s? He takes a step backwards, and then another step, and then another. Oh, god, he’s running out of room. What happens in a minute when his back is very literally up against the wall? There’s nowhere else to go. His mind scans for possible routes of escape. He could go for the stairs. But go where? Where could he go that the man wouldn’t follow? 

Klaus’ trail of thought is broken by Allison’s voice. “You don’t need to keep doing this, Klaus,” she says carefully. 

Even through his fear, a tiny part Klaus’ heart breaks in an instant. _Allison_ doesn’t believe him? 

If she doesn’t, then who else might agree with her? 

“I swear, Allison, everybody, I’m not making it up. I’m telling the truth. He’s invisible to all of you, I get that now.” He speaks faster and faster with every word that pours from his mouth, desperation bleeding into his tone. “But I swear. He just walked through the table. He’s so real to me. So real.” His voice breaks slightly. 

“Tell us more.” It’s Ben. Klaus can’t look away from the man to look at him, but he knows that’s Ben’s voice. 

He keeps backing up slowly. “What do you mean?”

“Tell us everything you know about this guy. There’s seven of us, and we’re not stupid, so we can figure out what this is if we work together.” 

“And we’re sure there’s something to figure out?” asks Diego. Ben whispers something to him under his breath that Klaus doesn’t catch. 

Okay. If Ben wants to know more, Klaus can tell him more. “He’s in some kind of bicycling shirt and shorts, but they’re all bloody. He’s bleeding from his head, right by his eye.” Klaus feels his bony spine hit the wall behind him and his arms freeze at his side. “One of his arms is hanging wrong. The skin’s all ripped up. Like he lost a fight with a cheese grater. He got hit by a car yesterday, I think.” 

The man stops pressing him backwards, leaving about three feet of space between them. “I saw him after the accident we passed on the way to Luther’s testing. He wasn’t wearing a helmet then, but I’m pretty sure he was on the bicycle. Allison saw him. No. Wait.” Klaus shakes his head, his breath hitching, before correcting himself. “That’s not right. She saw _me_ see him then.” 

The man bends forward at the waist so that his face is only inches from Klaus’ own. He opens his mouth and begins that horrid howl. 

Klaus takes Vanya’s advice from last night, then, and screws his eyes shut. He forces himself to speaks louder to be able to hear himself over the noise. “Diego, you pulled me back in the car. I was trying to help him. He saw me there. I don’t know if that’s why he’s following me or not. He wandered around my room all night. Sometimes he talks to me and sometimes he talks to himself and sometimes he just howls. That’s what he’s doing now, actually.” Klaus lets out a small hysterical giggle as he feels a wetness drip onto the skin of his face. It’s probably just blood, dripping from the man’s face hovering over his own. He’s not sure why he’s still laughing. It’s not funny at all. “He’s just. Screaming. He asked me to help him, but I can’t, not while he’s so _loud_.” 

Vanya’s voice mumbles something in the background, then either Diego or Five responds. “I can’t hear you,” Klaus murmurs, giving up trying to hear his own words over the awful din. 

“Just breathe. Keep yourself from passing out again.” Luther’s breath is hot on Klaus’ ear as he instructs Klaus clearly. “In through your nose and out through your mouth. According to first aid. Can’t have you passing out again.” The words are grumbled but Klaus can’t be bothered to care about his tone, especially not when Luther remains a warm presence at his side while the others converse dimly in the background. 

If this _had_ been a simple ploy for attention, at least it would have been a good one.

Time passes. Klaus focuses on breathing in and out and willing his eardrums not to simply explode with the force of the sound directed their way. Eventually, he feels Diego’s calloused palm take his own hand on the side opposite Luther. He gets close to Klaus’ ear like Luther had. “We have an idea. Well, Vanya and Five do.” Diego pauses. “It makes sense. You’re not gonna like it. It might just be that you’re crazy.” 

Klaus waits for Diego to continue, but he doesn’t. “ _That’s_ their brilliant idea?” he finally asks through gritted teeth. 

The screaming is still deafening. 

“No, that’s the alternate explanation. Uh, _their_ explanation is that the guy’s a g-g-ghost, and that you can s-s-see him. Them. Ghosts.” 

“Oh.” The sheer simplicity of the explanation would have knocked Klaus off his feet if he wasn’t already leaning up against the wall. All the puzzle pieces begin to slot together into a cohesive whole. “That makes sense, yes,” he confirms in an odd tone that manages to mingle both satisfaction and fear. Although his siblings’ theory, while viable, still doesn’t solve the practical problem still very much standing in front of him. 

“So... what, exactly, am I supposed to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings are nothing new from previous chapters, but: description of a mild anxiety attack, ghost-related blood/gore. (If you catch triggers I miss, please let me know and I'll add 'em.)
> 
> I wrote adjacent one-shot about the other siblings' discussion and I'm gonna post it as a separate fic within the same series, so look for that tomorrow if you're interested in hearing the bits of the gang's chat that Klaus couldn't. ((:
> 
> I also spent FAR too long drawing myself a diagram of their breakfast table positions as I was writing the beginning part of this chapter. Please appreciate. Labelled by first initial because numbers are too complicated (I'm an English major; I shouldn't be expected to count to seven). 
> 
> D F L  
> VBK A
> 
> Tell me how much of a disappointment I am in the comments. Thanks xx


	6. chapter six: the verdict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real triggers in this chapter for once??? I don't think??? 
> 
> I also posted a two-chapter fic that runs parallel to the previous chapter - it's linked as the next part in this series - so check that out, if you want. I don't think it's Necessary reading, but. There you go.

Klaus’ question hangs in the air. 

Knowing the diagnosis, even if it isn’t a great one, makes him anxious to find a cure, or at least a treatment. Because what Vanya and Five have apparently figured out _does_ make sense. If the man was a ghost, and he’d made eye contact with Klaus the day before, that could explain why he followed Klaus home, and why he hadn’t shown up on the security footage. Why Klaus hadn’t heard him appear in his room. Why no one else could see him, of course. And why he looked and sounded so ghastly. 

It wasn’t ideal. In fact, it was actually mind-blowingly petrifying, the thought that _this_ could be his… _thing._ His ability. What he’d been waiting for, for so long, while everyone else slowly picked theirs up and left Vanya & him in the dust. But he could dwell on that later. Having an inkling of a clue as to what might be going on is far better than… not. Especially because an issue still stands in front of him - about five-and-a-half feet tall and angry - and if the man really was a ghost, there had to be something to make it go away. 

“Could you check something for us first before this goes any further?” Diego asks. 

“...sure?” 

“Ask its name.” 

Klaus cringes slightly at Diego’s use of it. (The man/ghost might be not be human, but he doesn’t think that being called an it will make him any less ill-tempered.) “Okay.” The only problem is that, to speak to him, Klaus assumes he has to open his eyes. If he wants a chance that the man will respond, that is. 

“Don’t leave, alright?” he can’t help but ask, his voice weaker than he would have liked to admit. He can face the ghost/man if Luther and Diego are still there beside him, but if they leave his side, he doesn’t think he’ll have the nerve to do it. 

“They’re not going anywhere,” Vanya is quick to reassure him, her voice coming from father away. “Right, guys?”

A mumbled agreement from both brothers seals the deal. Klaus’ eyes flutter open. He’s still there, his maybe-ghostly eyes a deep jet black, his mouth still open in its frightful howl. Behind the man, Klaus can see Five sitting comfortably back at the breakfast table, along with Allison - with Vanya tentatively drifting closer towards Klaus and the others. (Where had Ben disappeared to? Training, maybe? Klaus wishes he’d stayed.) All three remaining siblings look deadly serious, though when Vanya catches Klaus’ eye, she gives him an encouraging nod. 

The wailing noise that had been pervading Klaus’ bones for the last half-an-hour stops abruptly as Klaus tears his gaze away from Vanya and makes eye contact with the man. His mouth remains hanging open, though, as if waiting for him to make a mistake. Klaus licks his lips. “What’s your name?” he asks quickly, before he can lose the very little confidence that he has. 

The man’s yelling stops immediately. He vanishes, like a glitching image on a video, before reappearing a few feet farther away from Klaus than he’d been a moment before. It reminds Klaus of Five’s power, except jerkier, in a way - far less smooth. And without the tinge of blue light that accompanied Five’s jumps. (This does not set Klaus’ mind at ease, but it’s an interesting observation nonetheless.) 

_**“Mike Hammond.”**_ Although he doesn’t look away from Klaus, he discloses the name in what is presumably his normal voice.

Klaus can’t help but release a small, surprised noise. 

“What is it?” Luther asks. Klaus can feel him searching his face. 

He doesn’t know how to explain the surprise he feels without going into a long explanation of what the man looks like now versus how he’d appeared three seconds ago. It’s simply not worth it. He licks his lips again. They’d requested a name, after all. “He says his name is Mike Hammond.” For some inexplicable reason, the others _immediately_ all look to Five in anticipation. Five nods, as if to confirm something. “What?” Klaus frowns. He doesn’t like being left in the dark. 

Five stands, pulling out a folded newspaper page as he begins walk towards where Klaus, Luther, and Diego are clustered against the basement wall. Mike Hammond stands directly in Five’s path. “Wait—” Klaus calls out in a panic, reaching forward with his hand as if to stop him, but it’s too late - Five walks _right through_ the man. The latter flickers for a moment, almost like a candle in a breeze, but doesn’t seem otherwise bothered. 

Five ignores Klaus’ moment of distress and passes him the piece of newspaper. “Bottom right corner.” He squints to read the small newsprint. 

_A vehicle-bicycle collision yesterday at the intersection of Inverness St and Cane Ave resulted in one casualty. It was not a hit and run; the driver of the vehicle was taken in for questioning. The thirty-two year old victim, Mike Hammond, was pronounced dead at the scene. Police advise the public to remember to wear helmets when biking on streets with heavy vehicular traffic, and for drivers to remember to share the road. Share the road, save a life._

He’s still staring at the report, slightly numb, when Vanya replies with an obviously forced tone of cheer and optimism. “That confirms it, doesn’t it?” Oh, that _certainly_ confirms it. He can see and hear ghosts. Or spirits, or shadows of the dead, or whatever you wanted to call it. Or if not _all_ spirits, then at least this one. 

The only bright side is that ghostly man isn’t screaming at him anymore. In fact, last night, it was only when he had stopped ignoring the man that he’d stopped then, too. If Klaus has to pay attention to the ghosts to appease them, but has to try to ignore them in order to _live his life,_ then what is he supposed to do? “It seems to confirm it, yes,” replies Klaus, only slightly hysterically. “What am I supposed to do about it? Is he just gonna follow me around until I _die?_ ” He looks to Mr. Hammond for confirmation, who only shrugs. “Oh, _that’s_ helpful.” 

“I assume it’ll require further research.” Five reaches out to extricate the newspaper page from where Klaus has crumpled it tightly in his grip. “First thing’s first. We should see—”

“Children, what’s going on?” Mom’s genial voice cuts through the focused atmosphere as she smoothly strides into the room from the hallway. Klaus, already jumpy from the day’s events, nearly _leaps_ into Luther’s arms in shock. 

Mom, looking as perfectly put together as usual, cocks her head and takes in the tense postures of each of the children, though none of them answer her question. She’s in tune with everything that goes on in the house; Klaus figures that she must know that _something_ is wrong, but she doesn’t question them further. (She also knows them well enough to know that they’re all closed books at the moment.) “It’s getting to be late in the morning. You have studies to attend to that you should have begun by now.” Her tone holds no disappointment, only a gentle prodding.

“Of course, Mom.” Diego is the first to respond, always eager to claim Mom’s approval. “We’ll get to work. Thank you for reminding us.” 

She graces him with a placid smile before turning to Klaus. “If you are in need of medical attention after last night, dear…” 

_”No,_ ” Klaus nearly shouts, too fast to be believable. He tries again. “Ah, no thank you. I’m fine. Like Diego said, we’ll… get to work.” 

Mom clasps her hands together before reminding them of their Tuesday morning schedule. While their father couldn’t care _less_ about their traditional academic education, Mom and Pogo had worked to make sure that when they weren’t working on improving their abilities, they’d at least learn basic reading and arithmetic. And science, and music. Art, sometimes, too. Klaus had always been grateful for their assignments; it was a way to pass the day with nothing else to do and being allowed nowhere else to go. 

“Luther and Five in the courtyard for exercise until lunch, then. I ordered a chemistry book for all of you to share, as well as some lab equipment. It’s about time to move on to chemistry from biology, don’t you think? I’ve set up a makeshift lab in the far part of the basement. Allison and Vanya, you can work there this morning, before we rotate. Don’t forget your safety goggles, girls. Diego, if you could join your father upstairs for training. Klaus, to the library to work on your literature curriculum with Ben.” 

Diego interrupts bluntly. “I thought Ben was already training this morning?” 

“Ben seems to be distracted today, which isn’t conducive to his instruction.” Klaus feels a twinge of guilt at that, guessing that it was probably… his fault. He hopes that Ben didn’t get in too much trouble for underperforming (because if Ben’s training was being put on pause for the day, it was surely because he wasn’t operating on the level that their father expected from him). 

Despite his guilt, Klaus feels relieved that Ben’s been assigned to be his study partner for the day. He needs someone in his corner. Not that his other siblings aren’t (he can’t think about how indebted he is to them right now without risking bursting into tears, which would be too embarrassing after what he’d already subjected them to in the last twelve hours), but he has a feeling that, out of all of them, Ben will understand what it’s like to have a power he would profoundly rather do without. 

The thought strikes him just as Mike Hammond takes a few steps forward, reminding Klaus that he hadn’t left. 

“Go on ahead,” Mom prompts them again. The children scatter. Five pops out of the room as Mom ushers the girls towards what is apparently their new chemistry lab. Allison twirls a strand of hair around her finger as she glances over her shoulder back towards Klaus. It looks almost like she’s about to say something, but she changes her mind and turns away. Vanya gives Klaus one more smile of encouragement as she follows. 

That leaves Diego, Luther, and Klaus to head up the stairs. They take them side-by-side, Klaus _very_ aware of the bicyclist - Mike - _were_ they on a first name basis yet? - following them a few steps behind. 

“You good?” Luther asks Klaus lowly. A glance up at the taller boy’s fiercely protective expression indicates that if Luther could punch a ghost in the face, he’d probably be willing to do so. 

“Uh, no. But Ben’ll help, I think. Thanks.” Klaus has never been more enthusiastic about stowing away in the mansion’s library for a few hours. 

Luther peels off from the trio as they reach the main floor, presumably to change into his exercise attire. Diego lingers with Klaus at the top of the stairs. “As soon as I get done with Dad, I’ll…” he trails off, not sure what he can offer to do. In an instant, his arms are wrapped around Klaus with the intensity of a boa constrictor. Then he confesses. “I’m glad you’re not going crazy.” 

“Don’t worry. There’s still time for that,” Klaus jokes flimsily into Diego’s shoulder. “You’d better go.” Diego reluctantly releases him, shoving him lightly towards the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Klaus & Ben bonding. Can't wait.
> 
> I have no idea if the kids actually homeschooled themselves or not, but I really love the idea of Mom & Pogo being like "these children will Learn something practical if it Kills us" and just. Ordering textbooks and scheduling lessons for them while Reginald Hargreeves gives absolutely zero fucks beyond their special abilities. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always.


	7. chapter seven: the well-meaning advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter-specific trigger warnings.

Klaus can still feel Dead Mike in the corner of the mahogany-panelled library, where he’s curled up in one of the large leather armchairs, his legs tucked up underneath him. (The name sounds so horrible… Mike Hammond, when alive, surely had a family, and a job, and a life - but Klaus has to call him _something_ , and ‘Mike’ alone seems far too casual.) Every so often, Klaus gives him a glance, just to reassure the spirit that he hasn’t been forgotten. His main goal is to avoid the show of vivid rage that the ghost had exhibited whenever Klaus tried to ignore him for too long. 

There’s also the whole problem of getting him _help._ The spirit had asked, before, for Klaus’ help - but what he wants exactly, Klaus still isn’t sure. It’s not like his murder remains unsolved. The newspaper made it clear that the police had apprehended whomever had run Mike over in the first place. And whether or not he needs help, it’s clear that his decision to haunt a nine-year-old is both bold and uncalled for. Klaus, however, has a strong feeling that Dead Mike will not take that complaint particularly well. 

The heavy door to the library, which Klaus had left open just a crack, swings open in full as Ben trudges in, his academy jacket slung over one arm. His forehead is sticky with sweat, and his shortly-shorn hair looks damp as well. Whereas they’ve all been invited to watch Luther train, and sometimes Diego or Allison, Klaus has never been present for one of Ben’s training sessions. Whenever he returns from one, though, he seems drained, like the creatures under his skin siphoned away all of his energy. Sometimes sugar helps, for some reason - so when Klaus remembers, he tries to snag a juice box from the kitchen and have it ready to slyly pass to Ben whenever he finishes up a training session. Today, unfortunately, Klaus has been understandably preoccupied. 

So, juice-less, Ben collapses in the high-backed chair opposite Klaus. He wipes his sweaty face with the back of his arm before smiling at Klaus tiredly. “So. Having an ability. Sucks, right?” 

Klaus chokes out a laugh at his brother’s directness. “Yeah.”

Luther’s ability? Cool. Diego’s? Also pretty sweet. Allison’s was scary if you were on the receiving end, but from her side, it seems great. Five’s - now, that’s probably the most dangerous, at least for him. He has to train the hardest, really, because if he’s not careful, he could get stuck between locations, in that space _between_ space. But Ben’s ability? His is the most disagreeable by far. 

Klaus remembers when Ben had first gotten wind of it, about four years prior. They’d only been five at the time, which had made it that much more disturbing when thick wet tentacles violently burst, without warning, from the middle of little Ben’s chest in the middle of dinner after their father had raised his voice at Diego. It was not something anyone could make themselves forget easily. So Klaus realizes that, out of all of his siblings, Ben’s the only one who can truly empathize with his present state of discomfort - with the lingering aftertaste of fear still raising the small hairs on the back of his neck. 

“You… learned how to make them go away,” Klaus hedges, gesturing vaguely towards Ben’s torso. 

Ben nods. “I have to concentrate all the time. Make sure I keep the horrors under control.” That’s what he called them sometimes: the horrors. It seemed to make the whole thing slightly more palatable than acknowledging that he was possessed with otherworldly tentacles on occasion. “Maybe if you try…” Ben slowly suggests, but doesn’t finish his sentence. He raises his eyebrows and inclines his head, as if to ask a question without words. 

He doesn’t understand what Ben’s doing, for a moment, but then he realizes. If Dead Mike catches on to what they’re talking around - figuring out how to get rid of him - he won’t be pleased. Klaus suddenly appreciates Ben’s careful wording, even if he won’t be the one on the receiving end of the spirit’s rage. “I don’t know how,” he admits. “How do you…?” 

“Hold on, we’re supposed to be reading.” Ben briefly puts his feet on his seat, pushing himself up and twisting to lean over the armchair’s tall back. He reaches toward the wall of books behind him, grabs two books at random, and tosses one at Klaus before settling back down in his seat. 

Klaus catches it. _Wuthering Heights._ He hadn’t read this one. He rearranges his limbs so that he’s sitting cross-legged in the chair and puts the book in his lap, opening it to the first page. If Mom walks in, it’ll at least _look_ like he’s being productive. (Mom and Pogo are never picky about what they read - the children are encouraged to rotate between fiction and nonfiction, but in the end, they won’t be scolded as long as they’re reading _something._ ) 

He looks up at Ben and opens his mouth to repeat his question, but Ben is busy scribbling away in the margins of his own book with a pen he must have pulled from one of the pockets of his jacket. Klaus tries not to take offense that _apparently,_ he’s not as interesting as their schoolwork. Any other day, he would have been unrelentingly persistent - but after this morning, making a scene at breakfast, and Allison already assuming he’d been lying for attention, Klaus deflates. Ben has his own problems. He’s not obligated to take on Klaus’, too. 

If he wasn’t so exhausting, maybe Ben would want to talk to him later. 

He can be patient. He can. 

His fingers restlessly play with the edge of the book in his lap. He tries to refocus on the beginning of Wuthering Heights, but he’s too keyed-up to pay much attention to any fictional story. His eyes scan the words on the page, unseeing and uncomprehending, until Ben speaks up. “Wanna trade?” He raises the thin volume in his hands, the pen he’d been writing with clipped to the front. 

Klaus sighs. “Whatever.” 

The two books leave the boys’ hands at the same time as they vault into each another’s chair, pages fluttering as they fly through the air. “That book’s hard. I’ve read it before. But give it a try?” his brother offers. He doesn’t know why Ben’s being so insistent about it, but again, whatever. He idly turns to the first page of this new one, _Frankenstein._

There, in the empty space on the page above the preface, is a note in Ben’s neat, round handwriting. _I’ll tell you what I do. Breathe deep. Imagine yourself pulling it all in to your core. Then pack it away in a box. Then lock the box._

“Like I said. I’m gonna read this one for a bit. You give that one a try,” Ben repeats, more intently this time before settling in to, presumably, actually read. 

Ben was always the smarter one, between the two of them. 

Klaus reads his note a second time, then hastily flips the page as he hears Dead Mike’s footsteps grow closer behind him. He doesn’t want to risk him reading Ben’s written words over Klaus’ shoulder. 

**_“Klaus. KLAUS.”_ **

Fantastic. He’s getting worked up again. And, apparently, he’s picked up on Klaus’ name. Now’s as good a time as any to try Ben’s method. Klaus keeps his head down, staring at the book in his hands and taking a deep breath through his nose. A long exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He closes his eyes. Whatever energy drew Mike to him in the first place, he tries to pull in; he pictures it like a shimmering fishing line that he can reel in, and he does. He reels it all the way in to his core, as far inward as he can pull it, and as tightly as he can. He pulls it in until he feels lightheaded - then realizes he’s been so focused on _that_ part that he stopped breathing. 

Oops. He sucks in another deep breath. He can feel Ben’s curious yet hopeful gaze on him from his own chair a few feet away. 

_Pack it away,_ Ben had written. Klaus imagines a small black box, decorated with silver trim, its velvet interior open and empty. Without hesitation, he pushes the essence he’s collected inside of it. His mind, invigorated by his resurgence of deep breathing, feels open and relaxed, and it’s easy to pack away the entire string of energy. Then he attempts to mentally close the box. The lid snaps shut with a click, and he locks it for good measure. 

Still calm, he opens his eyes. “I think… maybe… it worked?” he says to Ben, more of a question than a statement. The ghostly sense of Mike’s presence that had tickled at the back of his mind since the night before has quieted significantly. But there’s only one way to check for sure. 

Klaus untucks his crossed legs and sets his feet down onto the rug. Standing, he turns around to verify that his bicyclist has disappeared. 

As soon as he’s up, he’s down. He immediately spins and drops to the ground, palms pressed to the floor, cowering in front of his chair. Because now, there’s not one but _three_ figures now behind him in the library. 

There’s Mike, seemingly more solid than ever before, and frowning - but there are two _others_ there now as well. A severe-looking woman in a black bonnet and a long-sleeved, floor-length dress - and holding her hand, a girl, about Klaus’ age, her face glitching every few seconds between looking like a sweet, big-eyed cherub to appearing as a blackened husk, the echo of a face. 

Huddled in front of his chair (as if they can’t _see_ him that way, what makes him think that’ll actually work, stupid), Klaus turns to look at Ben, who has closed his book and has leaned forward in his seat anxiously at Klaus’ extreme reaction. “Klaus?”

“It did not, in fact, work.” The words escape in a single, shaky breath. “Uh. There are more now. Two more. Older. Time period, I mean. I think. I don’t know.” He can feel all the blood drain from his face the more he speaks. Naively, he’d thought this was going to be a one-time problem. Get rid of Mike, never make eye contact with anyone outside his family every again, boom, bang, problem solved. Apparently, that was not the case. He'd focused his mind, but he'd only ended up making himself more vulnerable, evidently. Was he going to just keep… _collecting_ them? 

“Come on, let’s get you up.” Ben sets his book on the floor and comes over to pull Klaus up off the ground. His arms tense as Ben tries to hoist him up, his fingers scrabbling to grasp the rug in desperation so he can stay here on the floor, out of sight, but he can’t get a solid grip. Ben manages to wrangle him back into his chair and squeezes next to him so that they’re both tightly tucked in the single seat, with Ben holding Klaus down so he can’t wriggle away as a chorus starts up behind their backs. 

_**”Klaus. Klaus.” “KLAUS.” “Klaus.”** _

It’s the little girl’s childish voice - one that sounds so much like Vanya - that makes Klaus begin to shiver. “Okay,” Ben says brightly, as if to offset Klaus’ panic. “What have we learned? It doesn’t work the same for you as for me. Sorry ‘bout that. Maybe doing the opposite would work better?” 

It’s sweet that Ben is still trying to help - but pointless. “I can’t do this,” Klaus interrupts, his voice small but utterly confident in its hopelessness.

“You can. You have to.” Ben’s jaw sets firmly. “It took me forever to get the hang of keeping it under control. Right? You were there. But look at me now. Right?” Klaus doesn’t answer. Ben _had_ gotten the hang of it, that was true. But he’d been miserable in the meantime. And all Ben had to deal with was what was inside him all of the time. This was… not worse, he would never say it was worse, but it was _different,_ because these spirits weren’t part of him. They were… other, and they were so far outside of his control. Impossible to control, even. 

If their father finds out, maybe he’ll be able to help. Klaus could tell him. Maybe with guided practice, training… but what are the chances that their father knows any more about this than they do? And he can already predict his displeasure, when he realizes that Klaus’ ability is functionally… well, it’s _useless,_ isn’t it? 

Awareness hits him with the force of a tidal wave. He can’t save people with a power like this. Not like the others. All of their abilities, they’re _practical._ Whether for offense or defense, they can each be of use somehow. All except for Klaus. Unless they want to start a side-business that calls ghosts - what are those called, seances? - what was Klaus meant to do to help save the world, or _whatever_ they were being kept and trained to do? 

He was going to be such a disappointment. 

Klaus shrinks, sinking deeper into the chair. 

Oblivious to his brother’s sudden internal sense of inadequacy, Ben pokes him in the leg, hard. “That’s where you say, ‘You’re right, Ben.’” 

“You’re right, Ben,” Klaus echoes dutifully as he tries to tune out the spirits’ voices behind him. 

He can’t wait until they _all_ start shouting. He snorts in wry amusement despite himself, and Ben must take this as a positive sign because he grins. “That’s the spirit!” He nudges Klaus in the ribs lightly. 

“Ouch. Bit early to be making jokes.” 

“Nah.” Ben tugs out _Frankenstein_ from where it’s fallen down into the crevice between the seat and arm of the chair. “I’ll read, alright? You can just listen.” Klaus doesn’t argue as Ben flips open to a middle chapter - past all the boring stuff, he says - and begins reading aloud, smoothly telling the story until he is forced to slowly sound out the words he doesn’t know. 

If Klaus focuses on Ben’s voice, he can almost ignore the trio of the dead still murmuring his name with growing insistence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings: a bit of ghostly body-horror, mentions of tentacles re: Ben, and a child's heart shattering because he thinks he's gonna be a disappointment to his asshole dad. 
> 
> Notes re: Klaus & Ben: at some point the comics mention Hargreeve's notes about Ben saying he's, like "enthusiastic yet naive" or something similar? So I really love the idea of Ben & Klaus being ride-or-die when they're younger because they're both so enthusiastic and fun-loving (with Diego being also pulled into their shenanigans on occasion, obviously). But my headcanon is that then they grow apart in a couple years as teens (which, I think, is true of all the siblings) until Ben's death, which physically pains me to think about. Their relationship ends up getting repaired when Ben becomes a ghost. 
> 
> Anyway. I love them. Let me know what you think in the comments or say hi [on the tumblr](http://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com) I made specifically for Umbrella Academy because, as I've mentioned before, I'm trash.
> 
> The next chapter will be focused on Klaus & Allison, and then I think there's gonna be a small time-jump.


	8. chapter eight: the necessary confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Despite the noise of the two _additional_ spirits in the room, Klaus must have managed to fall asleep while Ben was reading - because the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder. “Whassit?” he slurs as he tries to snap to attention. 

“It’s only Vanya,” says Ben.

Klaus blinks a few times to see their sister leaning up against the side of the chair Ben had been sitting in until he’d joined Klaus in his own. She graciously refrains from complaining about Ben’s statement. “Mom says it’s our turn for exercise. Me, Allison, and you. Ben gets a pass since he already had training for part of the morning. Unless you want to come,” she directs towards the latter brother.

“Nope.” Ben’s lips pop. “You go ahead.” He licks the end of his finger and flips his page loudly, clearly intent on staying in the library a while longer. When Klaus doesn’t move after another minute or so, Ben shoves him lightly from the chair. “You don’t get to get out of laps just ‘cause you’re stalked by dead people now. Go do your running.” 

_“Well then.”_ Klaus sniffs, though the edges of his mouth twitch in amusement. Getting next-to-no-sleep the previous night had frayed his nerves, but he feels slightly more alive now. And with that came a higher tolerance for - well, everything. The sense of despair that had come over him earlier, especially with the appearance of the spirits of the old-timey woman and the girl, had lessened (at least slightly) after his nap. Some of his confidence had returned. And it was a good thing, too, so he could put up with Ben’s ribbing. “Come on, Vanya.” 

Despite his words, he’s the one who trails behind her out of the library and towards the mansion’s exit to the courtyard. Let the ghosts go ahead and follow him, he thinks boldly, while still resolutely resisting the urge to look behind him. There’s more room out there, anyway. More room means they might stay farther away. Maybe the outdoors will be good for them. Like dogs. Faintly terrifying, possibly feral, deceased and rotting dogs. 

It’s stunning how much calmer he feels now about this whole thing, compared to last night or even earlier this morning. He supposes there’s a good chance he’s in some sort of shock. Whatever it is, it’s better than the unrelenting panic he’d felt before. So _he’ll take it_.

Once they reach the courtyard, Klaus shrugs off his red-trimmed uniform jacket and and unbuttons the shirt underneath as well to leave just his white undershirt, pulling the upper layers off and leaving them all in a discarded heap on the concrete steps just outside the door. The autumn breeze is chilly, but the sun peering through the grey clouds warms up the courtyard enough that he doesn’t need to go put on a sweatshirt. Next to him, Vanya does the same, stripping down to her pleated skirt and white tank top. No one needs to remind them of the expectations: sixty laps of the small courtyard, punctuated intermittently by at least three hundred jumping jacks. Whenever they complete those tasks, they’re free to go inside. 

Klaus has gotten pretty fast at running for that specific reason. He and Diego are probably the quickest - other than Five, of course, who uses his running time to practice spatial jumping, claiming that he’s somehow _not_ cheating if he’s using all of his possible advantages. It’s definitely cheating, the rest of them have decided, but they’re not about to fight him over it. 

Vanya, on the other hand, is not very fast at all. Klaus would even go so far as to categorize her as _slow_. No one bothers to tease her for it, because all of the children know that Vanya had some health issues when she was younger. Oddly enough, she also enjoys running slowly, as nonsensical as that sounds. She had explained it to Klaus once - if he didn’t rush through his laps as fast as he could, maybe he could appreciate the birds for longer, and notice the exact colors of the leaves on the trees, and the precise feeling of the sun on their sweating skin. (He had pointed out that he could hear the birds just as well from inside, but he hadn’t won that argument.) Now, if he’s assigned courtyard time with Vanya, he keeps pace with her instead of leaving her in the dust - not because she’s right, but because it’s more fun to run with a partner than finish up quickly and go back into the house with no one to talk to.

Today is no different. “You look like you’re feeling better,” Vanya tells him honestly as they take their first lap, side-by-side. Allison is already running laps ahead of them, but she doesn’t slow down to try and make their duo a trio, nor do they attempt to catch up with her. Klaus, for one, is still miffed that Allison had so easily assumed that he had been making the whole thing up. She can just _keep_ jogging on the opposite side of the courtyard, then. No need for her to apologize now that it’s obvious that she was wrong, or anything. 

Klaus breathes out his current annoyance with Allison and focuses on the sister that _did_ believe him this morning. “Yeah, I am. It’s Ben’s fault.” Ben, with his stupid pep-talk enthusiasm and his soothing read-aloud voice. “On the other hand, technically I guess you could say I’m doing worse. Two more ghosts showed up.” He leaps forward to avoid stepping on a fallen branch. “I’d tell you to keep an eye out for them, because they’re probably going to pop up out here sooner or later, but. You know. One of them is, like, our age, I think. But how was _your_ morning? How was chemistry?” 

Vanya shrugs. “Too much math. Five will love it. Tomorrow’s your turn. You and Diego, said Pogo.” 

“Can’t wait. Chemistry will be so super important to our futures as fighters of crime or savers of the world, after all.” He jumps up to pull down a leaf from one of the courtyard’s trees as they jog under a low branch. “Maybe I can teach the ghosts to mix chemicals. Or they can teach us, if any of them are scientists. Probably unlikely, right? They’re old, though, a couple of them,” he considers. “I’ll have the leg up in history, now. If they’ll talk to me instead of just repeating my name. Jumping jacks?”

“Sure.” The pair pauses where they are and begin to jump up and down in place, their arms extending out and in like starfish. Klaus counts internally while Vanya continues speaking, now partly out of breath. “Is that what they’re doing? Repeating your name?” 

Klaus can’t talk and count at the same time. “Uh, yeah. Hold on.” A minute later, and he calls out, “Fifty.” They take off jogging again, a bit more sluggishly this time. “Oh, speak of… them.” He instinct is to say _the devil_ but he really doesn’t want to tempt fate. Sure enough, there they are - Dead Mike, pacing restlessly in the back corner of the square garden, the woman and the girl staring from inside the mansion in the window pane behind him. If he didn’t already know Mike was deceased, and if he hadn’t seen the little ghost girl’s face glitch earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that they were spirits at all. To Klaus, they appear vividly alive; just as alive as Vanya is, next to him. Even if they’re still a bit mangled and bloody. Except the older woman - nothing seems wrong with her appearance, yet. Small miracles. 

It wouldn’t make sense for them to do laps along with him, he supposes. No use keeping fit if you were already dead. (Again - he can’t help but think again that this situation is so, _so_ incredibly messed up.) “Yeah, that’s what they were doing in the library earlier, saying my name over and over. I’d rather that than the howling at breakfast.” 

Allison breezes past to lap the pair of siblings, resolutely ignoring their conversation. 

“Sounds scary. But at least you have an ability now.” 

Klaus snorts. “Well, the universe, or whatever, can go ahead and just take it back.” 

“Easy for you to say.” 

He glances over at Vanya and tries to read her the oddly closed-off expression on her face. Oh, of course. She’s the last one to figure hers out, now. He can’t blame her for feeling excluded - even though she was super, _super_ wrong if she thought that a terrible ability was better than no ability at all. He reaches out sideways to tug a thick strand of her straight hair gently whipping in the breeze as they jog. It’s an awkward attempt to comfort the last sibling left out. “Well, I promise that when you get yours, I’ll believe whatever it is. Right away. Number one cheerleader.” 

She moves away from his grasp, but she still gives him a reluctant smile, conveying that she knows he means well. “If you say so. Hey, I’m gonna go get water.” She peels away from their path and cuts through the middle of the courtyard. 

“We’ll do more jumping jacks when you get back,” he calls after her. 

It’s boring, running by himself. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he’s going and automatically falls into the same speed and rhythm as Allison’s pace across the yard - though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t run just a _bit_ faster past the part of the courtyard nearest to his stalking spectres. 

Two laps and still no sign of Vanya. 

On his third lap, the ghost girl from before, about Klaus’ height and in a high-necked black dress, manifests instantaneously into the middle of his path. Like when her image had seemed to glitch earlier, her face appears as the version where it’s simply _gone_ \- scorched and blackened, like it’d been pressed into burning coals until all that was left was the impression of skin and features, gaping holes in a charred skull where eyes and a mouth should have been.

Startled by her sudden appearance, he shouts and trips on the air where he’d meant to step, falling to the ground as he scrambles to use the palms of his hands to catch himself in the dirt. The dead girl makes a noise from the back of her throat. An incomprehensible gurgling. 

“Klaus?” He looks up from where he’s fallen and has to lean sideways to peer around the ghostly child. Behind her, at the mansion doors, Vanya stands with a glass of water in either hand, staring at Klaus worriedly. 

“He tripped over a branch. It’s fine.” Allison’s sharp voice echoes from wall-to-wall of the courtyard. 

Klaus’ mouth drops indignantly. It’s not fine. He didn’t trip on a branch. There is, in fact, no branch anywhere within a three-foot radius. He tripped because this _horror_ show who, yes, probably died tragically and that was terrible, had decided to approach him. He much preferred when she _had a face_ and was repeating his name, rather than was quiet but looked like nightmare-fuel. He twists himself around on the ground so he doesn’t have to face her anymore - but she only appears again in front of him on the other side just as quickly. 

The girl begins to move towards him and he clumsily gets to his feet and sprints over to Vanya, who holds out one glass of water as an offering. “...is that all that happened?” 

He takes the glass and gulps down the water. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sets the glass down on the grass. “No,” he replies. His fists clench. The ghost girl’s helpless gurgling continues over his shoulder. He wonders where the woman is - if that’s the girl’s mom, or if it’s her murderer, maybe. 

All of this, and Allison _still doesn’t believe him._

The night before, _all_ of his siblings had seemed to believe their father, that he was only making it up. That had hurt. But once Five had believed him, after seeing his reactions firsthand, the others had slowly followed. Sure, Diego had apparently thought he was going crazy, but they all came around. That was the important part. All but _Allison_. 

“I have to…” Klaus struggles to release the words, not sure what he wants to say or what it is that he needs to do. All he knows is that he can’t stand it. He can’t deal with these _ghosts_ and _also_ have his sister… undermine his experiences like this. 

Vanya seems to sense his frustration. “You could talk to her.” Klaus knows that she means Allison, and not his current ghostly stalkers. Before he can give it a second thought, he takes her advice. 

Leaving Vanya near the door to finish her own water and leaving the ghost girl behind (though knowing she’ll probably only follow), he jogs to catch up with his other sister, her curly ponytail buoyantly bouncing against her back. As he approaches, he keeps his gaze on the horizon of their small circular track, and not on his sister. “I feel _hurt,_ when you _think I’m making stuff up._ And I want you to _believe me_ ,” he states bitterly with absolutely no prompting. 

I-messages. They’re part of some childhood conflict-management system that Pogo had read about. They house (well, Pogo and Mom) had implemented them after Diego and Ben had thought it would be funny to see if Allison could hypnotize animals like she could hypnotize people, but the only animal they could catch was a bat, wings and all. She had not reacted well (“I feel _angry_ when you _shove a live bat in my face_ and I want you to _not shove bats in my face_ ”). Thus: the I-message system. The siblings all hate it, of course, because no matter how you say it, it can’t avoid sounding both cheesy and forced. 

But Klaus’ tone is solemn and leaves no room for argument. Allison doesn’t reply, but she does stop in her tracks, so he goes ahead and lays out a second one for her, clearly emphasizing each part of the sentence. “I feel _terrible,_ when you _side with dad._ ” 

His throat tightens up. It must be a side-effect of the cardio. He raises his voice. “And I want you to _choose me instead_. Even if it sounds crazy, because weird stuff happens in our house all the time, and I wouldn’t lie about this. _I can’t believe you would think I would.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers: body horror/gore in the manifestation of a girl who's face is basically burnt off. I think that's it.
> 
> This chapter unexpectedly got out of hand in terms of length, so the rest of it will be up later today as chapter nine. 
> 
> Klaus got really chatty in this chapter since he's starting to feel a bit more like himself after his breif nap (and is also definitely in a weird state somewhere between shock and denial). I love him and am sorry to have to hurt him more later. [Say hi on tumblr](http://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com) if you want & have a happy Sunday or whatever day it is in your timezone.


	9. chapter nine: the resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Allison stands facing Klaus, both of them motionless in the courtyard. “Klaus,” she says helplessly. “I didn’t side with dad.”

“You did,” he replies, his words resolute. “He said I was making it up, and you went along with it.” Klaus crosses his arms tightly against his chest. “In the basement, you thought I was faking it. And a minute ago. I didn’t trip over a _branch_ , Allison, all of a sudden the girl showed up whose _face_ is all burnt off, though sometimes it’s not - this whole thing is confusing, and I really need you to believe me. Really.” 

“Klaus…” She fidgets with the edge of her skirt with her fingers as she stares at him imploringly. “I want to believe your theory. Everyone’s theory, I mean. It does make more sense than having no explanation at all. It’s only that logically…” 

Logic? She was concerned about _logic_? “Logically, Five shouldn’t be able to, like, teleport either.” 

“I know, but it’s easier to understand because we can see him do it.”

“And you just saw me trip over nothing, because I was _shocked_ by a spirit. A dead spirit. A spirit, of someone dead,” Klaus punctuates. “Mike Hammond told me his name. That wasn’t enough proof?” 

Allison shrugs unhappily. “There are a ton of possible ways you could have heard his name. Maybe you heard it on the radio this morning. Or heard it out the window of the car yesterday, even. Or read the newspaper upstairs, before Five went up and grabbed it.” Okay, that might be fair. But he _didn’t_ do any of that. Klaus wants to scream in frustration. “You might not have even realized that you picked up on it subconsciously.” Allison continues to hedge. Not accusing him outright, necessarily, but still not giving him the trust that he deserves. 

“They’re _right there._ He’s there, the girl is… gone, oh wait, no, she’s right there, and her mom or whoever is up in the window still.” He firmly points to each location in the courtyard in turn. “I don’t know how else to prove it to you.”

“What does it matter if I believe you or not, Klaus?” Allison sounds exhausted, even though she has no right to be, in his opinion. “And like I said, I’m not ‘siding with dad.’ We might be both be a little doubtful, but this isn’t a battle and there aren’t sides. I’m only… having a difficult time, understanding exactly what’s going on.”

“Well no _shit,_ me too!” Klaus can’t help but shout. “But he,” their father, “is gonna find out sooner or later about all this, and either he’s still not gonna believe me, or he’s gonna… I don’t know.”

If their father doesn’t believe Klaus is telling the truth and can’t accept that he really is seeing the dead, then what other option is there? Maybe Diego’s original assumption: that he’s simply crazy. “If he doesn’t believe I’m making it up for attention, he’ll think I’m going insane.” Klaus swallows. “And then what if he locks me up? Or sends me away?” 

If Number Four was going to be more trouble than he was worth, there would be no point of keeping Klaus around. If that happens, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Life at the Umbrella Academy is always bizarre and clearly not ideal, but it’s all that Klaus knows, and they’re the only family he’s ever had. Without them, he doesn’t stand a chance against the spirits. “But if _all_ of you believe me - yes, including _you_ \- we can convince him. That I’m not crazy. I mean, my power seems useless anyway so he’s bound to hate me no matter what, but he needs to know that I’m telling the truth. It’ll be worse if he thinks I’m still faking it for attention.” 

Allison latches on to the most insignificant part of his speech, for whatever reason. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah, he does,” he replies, unconcerned. Meanwhile, the faceless girl, who has now reappeared directly behind Allison _with_ her face back on, chooses this moment to begin speaking full-voice. Since her mouth is back, it seems as though she can talk again instead of only gurgling. A lot of ‘Klaus’ still, this time interspersed with sentences in an argumentative tone but in a vowel-heavy language that Klaus definitely does not recognize. It sounds semi-Irish but he’s no linguistic expert. “I don’t understand you,” he tells her loudly, “and also, I need to finish talking to my sister.” 

He turns back to Allison. “Look, just. _Listen_ to what I’m telling you. Please.” He forces himself to take a deep breath. She has to understand how important this is to him. “Even besides all that, I want you to trust me when I say that what I see’s real to me. ‘Cause when you don’t, it feels like you’re against me. And,” he considers, suddenly surprised at the clarity of his revelation, “I shouldn’t _have_ to prove anything. You should believe me just because I’m asking you to.” 

He waits, his words hanging in the air between them - interrupted only by the girl’s continual babbling, but he supposes that’s only on his end and not Allison’s. 

“Okay.” 

Klaus’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Okay?” 

“Yeah.” Allison nods. “I’m not your enemy. I’m sorry if it felt like I was being one.” 

“It did come across that way. A bit.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to feel that way. You’re my brother.” She reaches up to brush her hair out of her face. “If you ask me to stick by you, I will.” After a moment, she adds, “We would never let Dad send you away. You know that, right?” 

Klaus shrugs. “It’s not like we can control that. But I still feel better knowing that everyone’s behind me.” Maybe if he got sent away, the others would peacefully protest. Do something like… refuse to train with their father until he brought Klaus back home. That might make a difference. 

“I can.” Allison’s hushed words are barely audible over the sounds pervading the courtyard air from both the spirits and the city surrounding them. 

“Huh?” 

“ _I_ can control that.” 

Klaus’ eyes widen as he picks up on her meaning. “Wait. Wait, wait. Do you use your _powers_ on him?” he asks in a voice that is equal parts scandalized and proud. “Wait, no, don’t answer that.” It’s best if he doesn’t know, so if he’s ever asked, he doesn’t have to try to lie. 

Allison only gives him a sly close-lipped smile for a moment before it drops away from her face. “Let’s not let it get that far.” 

“Great plan.” He glances towards the mansion. “Can we say we finished our laps?” There was always the chance that Pogo will know they cheated on their exercise if he checks the security cameras, but he has better things to do than spend all day monitoring how many laps they’d run. 

“Sure.” The pair of them jog across the courtyard back to the mansion door, where Vanya sits in a patch of sunshine on the concrete steps, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles in front of her, her head tilted back. 

Klaus nudges her closest leg with his foot. “You’re not finished with your water yet?” 

Vanya stretches her arms slowly as she stands. “I thought I’d be polite and let you two finish your talk.” She doesn’t ask if they worked out their problems, but it’s evident in their relaxed postures that most of the tension between Numbers Three and Four has dissipated. “Did we run all our laps yet?” 

“I think so. Didn’t we, Allison?” 

“We definitely did.” 

“Sounds good to me.” The three of them collect their sun-warmed clothing lying next to the door and head back inside, the spirits following in their wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers in this chapter: more of the face-challenged ghost girl body horror sort of deal; Klaus discusses his fear of being institutionalized by their dad; Allison implies non-con mental manipulation.
> 
> In the show, Allison was always the one who was trying to detective-solve things, very much into finding hard evidence against Leonard. So I feel like as a kid she would be the kind of person to want that hard evidence to prove their ghost theory, which is why she’s finding it more difficult to take Klaus at his word. It’s not that she doesn’t care about him, but rather that she’s more of a skeptical person in general. 
> 
> I think there'll just be one or two more chapters in this installment? and then I'll be moving on to a new part of the series. 
> 
> that new part will either be: a) one of their first missions when they're ten or eleven, b) a mausoleum fic because I can't resist, c) Diego & Klaus shenanigans feat. sneaking out of the mansion, or d) an exploration into what starts Klaus' drug habit. if you plan on continuing reading stuff in this 'verse, feel free to send me a message [here](http://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com/ask) and let me know what you'd want to read about first, or drop a comment below. I started a fun [headcanons](https://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com/tagged/headcanons) tag as well if ur interested. 
> 
> I am also planning on writing some kid-aged sibling fluff at some point, but I may save that for later once my soul is wrung dry from the suffering that I'm sure I'm gonna put them through in the next couple o' fics
> 
> Thanks for reading; sorry my end notes are almost as long as the chapter itself. It is what it is.


	10. chapter ten: the words of the dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter-specific triggers.

The rest of the day stretches on, passing painfully slowly despite being full of academic lessons. Klaus does his daily arithmetic practice with Vanya and Allison, and then he spends time on his independent history project (he got to choose the topic, though Pogo assigned the time periods) - but even when he has work he’s meant to be doing, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the ghostly presences that follow him throughout the mansion. 

Every murmur makes him jolt in his seat. He accidentally rips one of the pages in his book because he’s startled as the older woman steps into his view unexpectedly. Luckily, the little girl’s face has stayed face-like instead of reverting to its charred state, but she hasn’t strayed more than ten feet away from Klaus all afternoon. After a while, even the nap he’d managed to snag earlier didn’t help. Any energy or sense of relaxation that brief sleep had built up was slowly wrung from him as his nerves were stretched further and further by the spirits. 

As much as he doesn’t want to risk accidentally angering them, he knows he needs to sit them down for a talk. Figure out what it is they want from him. Because they wouldn’t be following him around unless they needed him for something, right? There had to be better things to do if you were dead than relentlessly stalk a nine-year-old. After all, a deadline of sorts looms over his head. Supper. Where he’ll need to act _normal_ in front of their father. Klaus still isn’t sure when he’s going to break the news about what it is that’s been happening to him, but either he needs to have his story straight and his speech planned out ahead of time, or he needs to be able to make it through supper undetected so he can put that conversation off until another day. 

The only thing is, he doesn’t want to talk to them on his own. It helped, before, having the others around, and Klaus hasn’t been alone all afternoon. It would make him feel significantly safer if he had a partner, another living buffer to be in the room with him when he tried to speak to the ghosts. Part of him knows that’s useless. What are his siblings going to do? They can’t see or hear anything, anyway. But he can’t deny that it would be nice to have the moral support. 

It’s Diego who he approaches first. Three o’clock means down time until supper at six, so Klaus knows he can find Diego in his room, flinging blades at his wall casually, like it’s a game of darts. When Klaus raps on the frame of his wooden door and asks if he would mind sticking around to observe his chat, Diego immediately grimaces. “I don’t think I can watch you talk to air. It’ll be weird,” he tells Klaus apologetically. 

Considering how concerned he was for his brother’s sanity earlier, his reaction is unsurprising. Klaus comes in and makes himself comfortable on Diego’s bed while the latter continues his throwing. “It’s not gonna be fun for me, either,” he says. “But I don’t want to do it by myself. Just in case something happens.” 

“Vanya doesn’t have anything else to do, does she?”

“Mom’s teaching Vanya piano now.” The light melodic sound of tinkling keys from the upright piano in the living room upstairs echoes through the corridors of the house, emphasizing Klaus’ statement. 

Empty-handed, Diego crosses the room (walking right through a glaring Dead Mike) to pull all of his blades from the wall. “You know who would love to watch you talk to ghosts? Five.”

_**”Talk to us. Now.”** _

Klaus only responds to Diego. “You think?” 

“He can’t get enough of weird stuff like that. I bed he’d even take notes. But if Five won’t do it, I will. Come back and let me know.” 

Klaus agrees and leaves Diego to his fun, heading down the long hallway towards Five’s room. “...Five?” he asks, poking his head inside. The room is empty of any living inhabitants, but Klaus decides to wait. He can’t have gone far. It feels wrong to sit on _his_ bed (Klaus basically lived in Diego’s room half the time, but FIve had always been much more private), so he takes a seat in Five’s desk chair instead. 

His desk is covered in scientific-looking books that, from their titles alone, sounded like they were a bit above the siblings’ current reading ability. Along with the books were piles paper covered in illegible scribbles, Five’s handwriting much messier than Ben’s neat print. Klaus is reaching out to pick up one of the papers curiously when Five’s voice makes him jolt. “What are you doing in my room?”

He drops his arm and turns around in the chair to see Five standing at the foot of his own bed, arms crossed and frowning. “I came to ask you something. I think I should try to talk to the ghosts. Would you mind, uh….” He searches for the right word to describe what kind of assistance he needs. “...supervising?” 

“Ghosts? As in, plural?” 

Oh, right. He hasn’t talked to Five since this morning. “Yeah, there are three now. Dead Mike, plus two others.” 

“Huh.” Five looks impressed. “Do we need to go find them?”

Klaus would laugh if it weren’t such a stupid question. “No, they’re here.” Mike’s injured spirit is pacing near the door, while the woman stands and watches out the window. The girl is watching Five with interest from Klaus’ side, near enough for him to touch. If she could be touched at all. 

“So what do you need me to do?” All business, Five crosses the room and shuts his door with a click, giving them some privacy. “Do you know what you’re going to say to them?”

“I’m not sure. And no. I thought I would just… see what happens, I guess.” 

“Very smooth plan, Klaus. Well thought out on all counts.” Five moves back to his bed and sits cross-legged in the center, his back hunched over in obvious anticipation. “I’ll pay attention, then. If you want to translate what they’re saying in reply, that would be useful.” 

Klaus stands. It would feel too odd to talk to them while sitting - too casual, for some reason. He steps carefully into the middle of the room. Glancing at Dead Mike, Klaus can tell that he still appears slightly on edge. The little girl, though, seems the least frightening. She’s staring at him with wide blue eyes but looks more curious than upset ( _for now,_ he can’t help but think). 

“Hi,” he tells her. “I don’t know your name. Even though you know mine. That’s rude, sorry. But could you tell me what you’re doing here?” His words are slower, more cautious than his normal chatter. 

_**”Klaus. Is féidir leat a fheiceáil.”**_

It sounds similar to what she said before, in the courtyard. He hesitates. “Uh… I don’t understand. Can you speak English?” 

Five interrupts. “What language is she speaking in?” 

“I don’t know, but it’s got lots of vowels.” 

“Helpful.” 

Klaus tries again, even more slowly than before. “English?” 

_**”You. See us.”** _

Klaus’ eyebrows shoot up. “She said ‘you see us.’ Yeah, I can. What, is that the only reason why you’re here?” 

The spirit of the somber-clothed woman turns away from the window and sharply chastises the girl in their language. Her anger is audibly amplified somehow, and Klaus winces as the a high-pitched drone cuts through the room under her words. 

Five leans forward and asks Klaus a question that he can’t hear, so he pays his brother little attention as the girl ducks her head in chagrin. “Do you… want to be here? Can you leave?” Klaus asks, stepping forward. He tries not to sound too desperate for her reply - it’s hard, though. They were _just_ starting to get somewhere, and the girl had seemed almost eager to talk to him. Now, she only stares at him unblinkingly, her mouth pressed together to avoid further reprimand from the older woman. 

_**“So you’ll talk to her, but not to me.”**_ Mike’s tone is bitter as he stalks into view, towering over Klaus as he moves in front of the younger ghost. 

“To be fair, you’re a bit more intimidating,” Klaus manages to reply. His voice may betray his nervousness, but he stands his ground, leaving his feet firmly planted on the floor. Last night, Mike could really only speak in spurts, short phrases, single words, phrases that were too inaudible for Klaus to understand. Or the unearthly howling, at which point he seemed more creature than human. Now, though, it seems like he’s in control of his faculties, and he’s clearly able to speak more fluently. It’s as though Dead Mike is growing stronger. Or Klaus is. 

“I can’t follow half of a conversation,” Five reminds him impatiently. 

“He’s mad I tried to talk to the others first. Sorry.” Klaus isn’t sure if he’s apologizing to Five or to Mike. “Why are you here? You said something about… help? I’m nine so I’m a little limited in what I can… help with.” He swallows. 

_**“I’m stuck here.”**_ Dead Mike sounded understandably annoyed, but for once, his annoyance seemed directed at his general status of being deceased and unable to do anything about it rather than at Klaus specifically. _**“Haven’t you read ghost stories?”**_ Well, that was a little pit patronizing, wasn’t it? _**"I must have unfinished business. Since you’re the only person who can see me, that I know of, you must be meant to help.”**_

Klaus very much doubted _that_ , but that at least answered part of his question. He quickly recaps under his breath for Five, then observes, “You know you’re dead, then.” 

_**“I saw my body on the pavement. I made an educated guess.”** _

_**“Dead?”**_ the little girl interrupts, a world of heartbreak in one word. Dead Mike slowly turns and steps out of the way to look towards the child, as though he too is aware that the word signifies the beginning of a train wreck. 

She looks from Mike to Klaus, as if begging them to take it back. But what can Klaus say? He can’t lie to her, he thinks, feeling lost as tears begin to stream down her cheeks. She starts to howl in devastation. Her face lazily caves in, her skin flaking away into ash in sickening slow-motion, and when she reaches her hands up to wipe tears from her eyes, there’s no eyes for her to touch, and the howl shifts into an eerie groan from deep in her throat. 

Mike blinks in and out of view, like the girl’s energy is sapping him of his own presence. He turns towards Klaus and moves his mouth as though he’s speaking, but he grows more visibly panicked as no sound comes out. By the window, the same thing is happening to the woman - though her facial expression is blank, as though this was the only outcome she expected

The room dims. For a moment, Klaus thinks that it’s the actual lightbulbs in the room that are flickering until he realizes that it’s only his own consciousness that is beginning to fade. “Five?” he says faintly, knees wobbling. “I think I upset her.” 

A small hand slaps him smartly across the cheek. “Stay conscious. Come on.” Taking Klaus’ shoulders in his hands, Five propels him backwards and lowers him down to the edge of the bed. “What’s happening now?”

His heartbeat stutters; the spirit’s anguish somehow has a physical effect on him. “She didn’t know she was dead.” He’s astonished. How could she not have known? Had she only forgotten? Her hands clutch her ruined face, still keening lowly as if this is all Klaus’ fault. When it’s clear that her grief is continuing to leech Klaus of his energy, he apologizes casually - “Sorry, Five” - before promptly passing out, crumpling forward into his own lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible chapter triggers: more of the child ghost with the burnt face, if that visual disturbs you; also, medical trigger for fainting. 
> 
> SURPRISE, there’s more content left to include before the end of this story than I thought. 
> 
> Someone in the comments of the last chapter gave me permission to make my end notes as long as I want (ha), so, a little extra info: The girl and the woman are Irish immigrants from the 1830s who died on the land that the UA is built over. They have a tragic backstory(tm) that I probably won’t get into. They’ve shown up solely because they’re starved for recognition of their existence - there’s nothing Klaus can do to help them, like, move on, really. The girl, Aine, was drawn through Klaus’ power, and her aunt followed like a magnet. Mike, on the other hand, actually does have a task that he needs Klaus’ help for, which will be explored in the next chapter.
> 
> The other thing that I’m really attracted to re: the mechanics of the ghost is how much they’re aware of each other and of their own status as spirits. I think it would shift depending on Klaus’ level of potential as well as on an individual case-by-case basis. I also think that the stronger Klaus is, the stronger the ghosts are (as evidenced a couple times with him & Ben in the series). It’s definitely a reciprocal situation. The more I think about the way I think the ghosts work, the more distressed I am about Klaus' life in general, lmao.
> 
> Tell me if u hate this yet in the comments below. Or say hi on [tumblr.](http://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com)


	11. chapter eleven: the weight piling up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter-specific triggers.
> 
> Sorry this took me so long to update - I was in Ontario visiting friends last weekend and their wifi router was down, so I couldn't work on the story since I draft on Google Docs. RIP me. And then this week was a disaster. But hey, this chapter is twice as long as normal so hopefully that makes up for it ??

Klaus blinks back to consciousness, the world growing sharper in his vision. It takes a moment to orient himself, but he realizes that he’s lying down now, sideways across a bed with a stack of pillows shoved hastily underneath his neck.

“Good. I thought I was going to have to go get Mom. Idiot.” Five’s voice is sharp, but underneath it, Klaus can detect a hint of both fondness and genuine worry. Just a hint, but it’s there. 

Klaus turns his head to search for the source of his sibling’s voice and sees him sitting neatly cross-legged on his desk chair, using a book as a hard surface against which to scribble a mess of notes. Noticeably absent, though, are the spirits. He can’t see them, unless they’re hiding under the bed, which seems a bit below Dead Mike’s perceived level of dignity. And he can’t hear them, either - not a whisper, not a whimper, nothing. 

“They’re gone,” he can’t help but muse aloud, dumbfounded yet relieved. 

Unfortunately, Klaus’ short-lived hope that his spectral tag-alongs are gone for good disapparates with Five’s next hypothesis. “Unsurprising. You were out for five whole minutes. If they affect _you_ , it would make sense that you affect them, too.”

Klaus doesn’t bother to argue. He knows Five’s probably right - he usually is. “How long do you think I have until they come back?”

Five gives him a withering stare, as if to emphasize the fact that he has no expert credentials in this particular niche area of study. He ignores Klaus’ question and continues sharing his observations. “Other than that, we also now know that you, or whatever you’re conjuring, physically affect your surroundings.”

“Okay....?” Klaus begins to sit up but lies back down as a light wave of dizziness hits him again. 

“The lights flickered. Also, the furniture shook. Only a little, like the tremble of a low-level earthquake.” 

So the fading lights _hadn’t_ just been his own vision. The furniture moving, though, that was new. “I didn’t notice.” It had to have been the little girl. Somehow. Did that make her count as a poltergeist? Wasn’t that when ghosts could cause mischief? But usually, poltergeists in stories were darker, more ill-intentioned. She hadn’t seemed… evil, only devastatingly upset. 

“No, you wouldn’t have. You were halfway to la-la land.” 

Klaus readjusts his position on the bed, staring up at the cream-colored ceiling. It’s slightly reassuring, that Five has been observing and recording. There’s eye-witness proof, now, that he’s not only imagining things. Or _sort-of_ proof of the _effects_ of it, at any rate. Not that _Klaus_ had thought he was imagining things at all - that would have been a relief, actually - but it’s good to have, in case he needs backup. When he eventually tells their father. 

He really, _really_ doesn’t want to tell their father. 

Part of him hopes that maybe it’ll turn out to be a good thing. He and Vanya have been the last to figure out what they could do, after all. It was all just a waiting game until now. Finally his potential has materialized, even if it did so in what is arguably the worst possible way. It might not be that bad, when he comes clean about it. 

But at the same time he knows that any such hope is pointless - there’s no way that this will end well for him. Literally zero percent chance. Their father is going to doubt him, at first. He’ll think that Klaus is only trying to seize attention away from the others. And then, once Five and the rest all back him up, their father will be disappointed. Not that Klaus isn’t already an obvious disappointment, but he’ll be a _permanent one,_ then. Being able to talk to ghosts - it isn’t a defensive technique, or an offensive one. It’s just a weird little skill that he never asked for and that can’t possibly serve a function for the _greater good_ that their father’s always talking about. Could it? 

And then there’s the whole matter of training. Klaus hasn’t had to do training lessons up until now, because there hasn’t been anything for him _to_ train or practice. What could that possibly entail? Working on… talking to the spirits? Or maybe trying to see _different_ spirits? More of them? More of them that might be just as bitter and angry as Mike, or as unknowingly terrifying as the little girl? Klaus swallows. Best case scenario: their father will think he’s so useless that he won’t _have_ to train. And that may be the best scenario, but that still doesn’t make it _good_.

 _ **“You tried to get rid of us.”**_ The angry rumble from the foot of the bed makes Klaus close his eyes. Dead Mike’s voice is significantly fainter than it was before, like it’s echoing through a long tunnel, but Klaus can tell that he’s still very much present again - even if the other two haven’t shown up again yet. 

“No, no, no, go away,” he murmurs. He still doesn’t feel well. He’s lightheaded, and he finally got a moment of peace, and it wasn’t long enough by a long shot. “I hate this. I really, really hate this.” He’s self-aware enough to realize that he sounds like a whining child - but at this point in time, that’s exactly what he is. He’s not going to shame himself for that. 

Mike retorts hotly. _**“SO DO I. At least you aren’t DEAD.”**_ His voice is louder this time, piercing the light pounding that’s begun behind Klaus’ temples. He groans softly. 

“I hate to suggest it,” Five breaks in, “but you should consider talking to Pogo.” Klaus immediately shakes his head, accompanied by a shaky breath. Pogo might not be as close with their father as Mom is, but he’s still too close for comfort. There’s too great a chance that he’ll end up spilling the beans. Presumably noticing that Klaus isn’t even slightly convinced, Five continues. “I only mention it because being out cold for five minutes is concerning. Seaking from a medical standpoint.” 

“I’m fine. It’s probably not going to happen again, anyway.” Probably untrue, but Klaus doesn’t know whether he’s trying to convince Five or himself. He musters the physical willpower to sit up and open his eyes again only to see Mike and Five both frowning at him for wildly different reasons. “I’m going to go downstairs until supper.” With effort, he pushes himself off the bed and staggers towards the hallway, ignoring Five’s uneasy stare. 

Dead Mike follows, though there’s still no sign of the girl or the woman with her. It’s only a few moments before the bicyclist begins pestering him again. _**“Help me.”**_

“Please. Stop talking.” Klaus pauses halfway down the stairs, clutching the railing because he still feels his legs shaking slightly. “I will try to help you. I just need, like, a minute. You yelling is not gonna make me help you faster.” He tries to think as he finishes descending the staircase. They only have maybe half an hour until they’re called for dinner. Depending on what kind of assistance the ghost thinks Klaus can give him, it might take way longer. Especially if the other spirits show up, and even more so if the ‘help’ requires going anywhere beyond the mansion, or any materials beyond what Klaus currently has access to. He turns around to face Dead Mike and tries to keep his voice level and even semi-compassionate. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help Mike, after all - it just can’t happen this very second. He needs enough time and enough mental, emotional, and physical energy, all of which he currently lacks. “Can you calm down until after supper? I swear, I will help you _right_ after supper.” 

_**“Skip dinner. Unimportant.”** _ It's a demand more than a suggestion. 

Klaus doesn’t want to laugh in the ghost’s face, so he manages to reign in his bleak amusement to a small snort. “Uh, no. Supper is not optional.” 

Dead Mike narrows his eyes. _**“You don’t understand—”**_

“No, _you_ don’t,” Klaus interrupts. “I can’t skip out. That’s not how it works here. The consequences will mean that it’ll take even longer for me to help you.” He sighs and rubs at his temples. “Please.” 

The spirit doesn’t seem pleased, but he nods. 

“Good. I’m gonna sit in that corner,” Klaus replies, pointing to the corner of the living room next to the wall to the great hall. “On the floor. I’m going to try to convince my body I’m not dying. And then I’m gonna go to supper, and I’m gonna act normal, and then afterwards I’m going to meet you in my room. I can’t talk to you until then.” 

And then he does exactly that. He crouches down to sit against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest, elbows resting on his knees, face pressed to one arm. Pretending Luther is next to him like he’d been this morning, Klaus imagines a voice guiding his breathing. 

No ghostly interruptions, no nothing.

Time passes until a voice breaks his zen-like state.

“Time for dinner, Klaus.” He looks up to see Mom, wiping her hands on her apron, Mike still standing impatiently behind her. “What are you doing down there, sweetie?” 

“Meditating,” he tells her truthfully. He takes another deep breath. It seems to have helped, his self-imposed time-out. His heartbeat doesn’t feel like it’s vibrating any longer, and his limbs feel steady. 

“Oh.” She seems surprised. (He can’t blame her - he’s never really been the _calm_ one in the family.) “Well, as I said, time for dinner.” He slowly stands and heads towards the dining room. He’s not the last to arrive - Diego and Allison are still missing, but Luther, Five, Ben, and Vanya are already at their places, standing at attention. None of them are quite as tall as the backs of their wooden chairs, although Luther is the closest. All of the waiting children look questioningly at Klaus as he enters the room - Five with more apprehension than the other three. He wonders if Five told them anything or if he kept his knowledge to himself, hoping it’s the latter. 

Vanya begins to speak. “You—” but Klaus quickly shakes his head, mild panic rising in his expression, and she stops mid-word. He glances up at the clock mounted on the wall. A minute until six. Diego runs in, out of breath as he skids into his spot. He gives Klaus a friendly slug on the shoulder (harder than he probably means to) before grabbing hold of the top of his chair to steady himself. Allison, too, slips into the dining room at the last second, smoothly stepping behind her place at the table. She nods at the others almost imperceptibly. 

As always, they hear him before they see him, Hargreeves’ hard heels clacking against the wooden floor of the dining room as he approaches. All heads swivel towards the table’s end to see his sharp gaze from behind his gleaming, ever-present monocle. He glances at each one of them in turn, as if to evaluate them, like a scientist through a microscope. Klaus begins to sweat lightly. He forces himself to make eye-contact, although his attention is torn between supper and Dead Mike’s presence - he’s stalking the edges of the room, though as promised, remaining silent. 

“Sit,” comes the command, and they do. Klaus settles into the second seat on his father’s right, as assigned, with Diego on his left and Ben on his right. Two, Four, Six - with One, Three, Five across the table and Vanya taking the end directly across from their father. (Mom never joins them, though Klaus wishes she would; she would diffuse the tension. He supposes it makes sense, as she doesn’t strictly _have_ to eat - he doesn’t even know if she _can_. Pogo never dines with them, either. Klaus likes to imagine that the two of them always busily bond over a hot tea for Pogo and an oil for Mom, warm in the sunny kitchen.)

Even though she doesn’t eat with them, Mom has already laid the food out on the table, still steaming hot. Today it’s a large pot of what smells like vegetable soup, with rolls to accompany it. The soup starts on Hargreeves’ end, before being passed towards Luther and Allison. It wouldn’t hurt to send the food around the opposite direction, but that wasn’t _routine._  
The vat of soup and platter full of warmed rolls makes the rounds in silence, the only sound the scraping of utensils against their porcelain dishes, followed by the sounds of chewing. 

That, and a soft voice. _**“Tá brón orm.”**_

Klaus attempts to ignore the girl who’s appeared at his elbow, just between him and Ben. He reaches for the butter and knife in the center of the table, just for something to do. 

She repeats herself more insistently. _**“Klaus. Klaus. Tá brón orm.”**_

The darkly-dressed woman, her face pale and her expression irritable, comes into view from behind Luther, towering over he and Allison as they dive into their vegetable soup. She reprimands the girl similarly to before. The girl responds angrily, her voice softening before she repeats her earlier phrase to Klaus again, as if she’s desperate for him to understand. Dead Mike continues to circle the room, watching cooly but not interfering. Klaus almost wish he would - maybe he could convince the ghostly woman to calm down. 

He just has to make it through dinner, he reminds himself as he tries to tune out the babbling. 

In the midst of the girl and the woman’s argument, Klaus’ family continues their silent meal. 

Their father reaches for a glass of water to take a sip, a sure sign that he plans on striking up a critique (it never feels quite right to call it a ‘conversation’). A stern comment follows soon enough. “Your effort today during training was insufficient, Six.” 

“I apologize, sir,” Ben mumbles. 

Klaus hates that - his brother’s as bright as a flame, but in their father’s presence, he always withers. 

“Two, on the other hand...” The spoon in Diego’s hand pauses in mid-air as Diego freezes mid-bite. “You’ve shown remarkable improvement in the last two weeks.” 

The spirit of the woman grows visibly angrier, turning on Klaus as he ignores the girl. _**“Klaus. Labhair léi.”**_ He doesn’t understand. Before, she didn’t seem to _want_ the little girl to talk to him, and now she does? It would be easier if he could understand what they were saying. She’d spoken English before. Couldn’t she now? But he doesn’t want to hear English, that’s right. Klaus shakes his head. He wants them to be quiet. Or alternatively, he wants to just ignore them. 

He can ignore them. He tries to ignore them. 

Both spirits begin to grow louder and more emphatic. Klaus feels a sinking in his stomach. Not again. 

_**“Klaus, Klaus.” “Labhair léi!” “Tá brón orm!”** _

“Thank you,” Diego replies to their father after a moment’s pause, uncertain pride evident in his tone. “I’ve been practicing on my own.” 

“Your last brain scan indicated deeper neuron activity. I have some tests I’d like to run tomorrow. You may yet have an undiscovered further side of your abilities.” 

Klaus takes a single bite of his soup to distract himself despite not being hungry, swallowing a spoonful of potatoes and green beans. The attempt at distraction doesn’t really work as the shouting continues above the table. Ben is suppressing a shudder next to him, their father’s disappointment a scalding wave. Diego shifts uncomfortably in his own seat. 

Five seems to be trying to communicate something wordlessly from across the table but Klaus avoids his gaze and stares at his bowl instead. 

_**“STOP,”**_ Dead Mike finally breaks in, stepping towards both the woman and the girl. Klaus sucks in a breath. _**“If he gets caught, he can’t HELP me. Help me. Help me. Help me.”**_ His neck begins to twitch, and his face glitches out, too, like the girl’s had before. His appearance doesn’t change, but his words stick in a repetitive loop. _**“Help me. Help me. Help me.”**_

The spirits’ heated arguments and cycles of malfunction are so overwhelming, and Klaus is so incredibly focused on his next spoonful of soup - stressfully straining to keep his gaze from bouncing around the room at what will seem like _nothing_ to the others - that he doesn’t acknowledge the comments of the living individuals in the room until he hears his own name in the middle of someone else’s sentence. 

“...Klaus...” 

“Huh?” Klaus looks up to realize that the attention of every figure in the room - both living and dead - is squared solely on him. 

Diego’s jaw is dropped, his eyes darting between Klaus and Luther. Five has pressed his lips together, clearly opinionated but holding himself back. Allison straightens in her chair, and Vanya and Ben are both hyper-focused on Klaus’ reaction. 

Luther clears his throat then repeats himself. “I said, I believed you had something you’d been meaning to tell Dad. Haven’t you?” 

_Oh, shit._

Klaus numbly sets his spoon down on the table with a clink. 

_**“Help me. Help me. Help me,”**_ Mike continues from behind Vanya, still apparently trapped in his loop. 

_Help me, too,_ thinks Klaus as their father leans forward, his gaze coldly pinning him in place. 

“Well, Four?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers: medical stuff (Klaus is unconscious for a few minutes and suffers medically as a result - lightheaded, heart palpitations), ghost stuff (though nothing super gore-y in this chapter), and sibling betrayal.
> 
> I should note that in revising this chapter I definitely changed my mind about how this was gonna go down, which is extending the story by a chapter or two. 
> 
> “Tá brón orm” means “I’m sorry,” according to Google Translate. I don't speak Irish, so _tá brón orm_ if that’s way wrong, haha. “Labhair léi” means “speak to her.” Aine’s aunt can be protective of her when she wants to be.
> 
> Re: supper at the Umbrella Academy - I feel like asshole Reginald Hargreeves is definitely militant in how he runs the house. Supper at the exact same time every day. You’re present or you’re screwed. I also rewatched parts of the episodes to try and figure out what their seating order was in the series, but then I realized that I didn’t actually care and that it makes sense for it to be by numbers, from 1-7 alternating across the table; also then because 2/4/6 get to sit next to each other, and so do Luther and Allison, and so do Vanya and Five. 
> 
> Also: Luther is the one who rats on Klaus because he’s definitely an ennagram 1 and he wants what’s best for the “greater good” just like he believes their dad does (he's always bought into the bullshit pretty easily) - but Luther is also still loyal to kids to a degree in that he’s gonna make Klaus own up to it himself.
> 
> Ok, that’s all. Thanks for reading; comments give me life either below or [here.](https://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com) For real, let me know if I’m fucking up characterization. Love u.


	12. chapter twelve: the challenge rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Klaus is speechless. Any _hint_ of an idea for a reply: gone. All he can do is move his mouth in a vague approximation of words, though no sound comes out. 

His moment of silence seems to stretch, made longer by all of the sets of apprehensive eyes on him. (The ghosts, as they have been prone to do, continue their babbling without regard for the tension at the supper table.)

He can’t believe Luther threw him under the bus. Threw him to the wolves. Threw him to the wolves living under the bus. 

Hargreeves continues to stare at him, unblinking and impatient. “I will only allow you to waste ten more seconds of my time.” The _before you face consequences_ remains heavily implied. 

Klaus glances at Luther in a panic, who looks back at him impassively. “I...” What is he supposed to say? _Yeah, so I can see and talk to dead people now. Just like a horror film. Isn’t that exciting?_ He had thought he would have more time to figure out exactly how to phrase it. He’d wanted to be able to break the news in a way that wouldn’t make him sound crazy, a way that would minimize any possibility of disappointment and anger. That’s why he hadn’t even briefly considered spilling the beans at tonight’s supper. He thought he would be safe for just a while longer. 

Whatever falls from his tongue now will be hastily thrown together and _wrong_. How could Luther have done this to him? His heart twists in his chest, and he unconsciously reaches up to clench the front of his buttoned shirt in his sweating palm. 

“Two seconds left, Number Four.” 

“I don’t know what Luther’s talking about,” Klaus finally manages to protest, weakly. Except… that was definitely not the right thing to say. Their father would never believe Klaus over his prodigy. “I mean,” he quickly backtracks, “I think Luther was. Mistaken. It’s not anything important, that’s why I didn’t bring it up.” He looks over at Allison desperately. Maybe she can work her magic and convince their father to forget the last two minutes of supper conversation? But she’s busy staring aghast at Luther, her face unusually pale. 

“It must be important enough, for Number One to bring it to my attention.” 

Klaus releases his hold on his shirt and clutches the edge of the table, like a skittish animal attempting to convince himself to stay seated instead of running away. “No, it’s only that I’m… ill. I’ve been ill today. I didn’t want to… bother you again, like last night.” 

It’s not a complete lie. Luther furrows his brow as though he wants to protest, but he remains silent. Their father, on the other hand, appears unconvinced as his steely gaze narrows. “Grace,” he calls, no more loudly than he’d spoken to his adopted children. 

She appears in the doorway of the dining room almost instantly, framed by the light of the setting sun beaming in from the windows of the living room behind her. “Yes, sir?” 

“Number Four claims to be ill. If you could verify his statement.” 

Mom crosses the room and moves behind Klaus’ chair. Suddenly, he feels a cool hand on his forehead as her other hand squeezes his shoulder lightly. “Temperature reads at one hundred and one point two degrees Fahrenheit, or thirty-eight point four degrees Celsius. His temperature falls within the fever range.” 

Klaus sighs in relief, never having been happier to actually be confirmed to be _feverish_. Removing her hand, Mom gently turns his head and lifts his chin so he’s looking directly up at her. “You didn’t tell me you were feeling sick,” she tells him softly. No doubt she’s thinking about his odd behavior before dinner, finding him curled up on the ground by himself. Klaus tries not to feel guilty. He hadn’t told her - he hadn’t told her _anything_. Because as much as it would have been nice to be comforted by Mom, she was still going to be more loyal to their father, not due to her own fault. But it still meant that he couldn’t trust her completely, not with something like this. 

Their father ignores their moment of bonding. Disgruntled, he settles back in his chair, as though he’s upset he hadn’t managed to catch Klaus in a lie. “Thank you, Number One, for alerting me - although you could have done so earlier.” It’s a reprimand - but a lighter one. It always would be, when it came to Luther. “It seems as though _some_ of your peers lack the self-preservation necessary to succeed in our collective mission. Number Four, to the infirmary. Now.” 

“It’s not a severe fever, sir,” Mom reassures him, as though he’ll actually care. “Klaus can finish his supper first.” 

“I won’t allow him to infect the others. Go, now. It’s not open for debate.” Hargreeves gives a dismissive wave before picking up his spoon to resume eating his soup. 

This conversation could have gone so much worse. Getting to escape the mounting pressures of the dinner table was a _reward_ , really. A lucky circumstance, for once. Well, he’ll take it. Klaus stands, trying not to wobble too much as the blood rushes from his head. He nearly trips in his attempt to escape his chair, leaving his dinner essentially untouched. Mom takes his hand and leads him towards the basement. He can feel concerned eyes on his back - he won’t be surprised if Five shows up in his room again just after supper concludes - but he doesn’t bid any of his siblings farewell, just follows Mom without a word. Dead Mike trails afterwards, still repeating his _**“Help me”**_ refrain. Klaus can’t see if the other two ghosts are following, too, but he doesn’t doubt that they will. 

They all call it the infirmary - it’s really just a single whitewashed room, with enough medical equipment and first-aid supplies to get them through any kind of disaster. Klaus sits atop the half-reclined bed as Mom busies herself in the cupboards, pulling out a stethoscope, a cuff, and a few rattling bottles. “I’ll bring you leftovers later tonight, if you’re feeling up to it,” she assures him as she reaches down grabs a blanket from a hidden shelf underneath the bed. She tucks the soft, grey fabric neatly over Klaus’ lower half, making sure his feet are nestled carefully inside. 

Sure enough, the two Irish spirits have tracked Klaus back down to the basement. They’re quiet now, though Mike is still loudly insistent. It’s a small room, and the four bodies - three ghosts, one robot mother - crowding around in the limited empty space around the bed make Klaus feel slightly constrained. It they would all just take a step _back,_ he thinks, as Mom uses the equipment to run a few standard check-up tests beyond just her thermometer reading. He only winces when she tightens the blood pressure cuff. Mom frowns as she takes it off. “That’s abnormally low. You’re showing signs of mild dehydration as well. When did you start feeling ill, sweetie?” 

“Last night.” 

She’ll probably assume that his claims in the middle of the night yesterday can be explained by his fever. Their father will think that too, surely. Klaus isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s an explanation, yes, but… it’ll make it more difficult to convince them of the truth, eventually. 

He shivers while Mom jots down some notes in his medical file. “I’m going to give you a fever-reducer. Drink some water, to help with the dehydration.” She hands him a tall glass of water that she must have poured when he wasn’t paying attention, and he holds it in his lap as she continues. “We’ll see if your body can regulate itself after a bit. If your dehydration gets worse, we’ll have to set you up on a drip. I think this’ll work though,” Mom tells Klaus with a comforting smile as she unscrews the cap of one of the bottles and shakes out two pills. “Hold out your hand.” 

He complies, and she drops the small white ovals into his outstretched palm. Setting them both on his tongue, he swallows them down with a gulp of water. “I’ll come back to check on you in a few hours. Then we might be able to let you go back to your own room. Warm enough?” 

Klaus nods and burrows deeper into the thick blanket. “Thanks, Mom.” 

“Of course. It’s no trouble. I’ll leave the door open - call if you need me, alright?” She lingers in the door frame for a beat longer than necessary, then leaves him to his own devices. 

There’s nothing he can do now except wait for his fever to go back down. He takes another sip of water, then sets it on the counter next to the bed. “I’m sorry about before,” he whispers to the ghostly girl, not wanting his voice to carry through the open door. She doesn’t reply - but she seems calmer now, for whatever reason. 

Dead Mike, though, is still trapped in his loop. Klaus doesn’t know whether he should try to snap the man out of it or let him continue - because if he was repeating himself, at least he wasn’t pestering Klaus to take any real action. Klaus still needed to help him tonight, like he’d previously promised, but he couldn’t do that until he was deemed well enough to leave the infirmary. Unless Dead Mike’s task for him was simple enough that he could complete it without leaving this room. 

Klaus shutters his eyes, the warmth of the blanket and the repetition of the ghost’s words lulling him into a sleep-like state. 

When he opens his eyes again - he doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but the room is silent. They’re still standing there, all three spirits. Mike’s mouth is still moving, but Klaus doesn’t hear him. The sight is so similar to before that Klaus rapidly reaches over to tap his glass of water, just to make sure that he hasn’t suddenly gone _deaf_. Yes, he can hear his fingernail tinkling against the glass. It’s only Mike who’s lost his voice for some reason. Maybe he’s reached some sort of ghostly cap on his energy? Klaus isn’t sure, but the silence makes it even easier to slip back into sleep. 

The second time he wakes up, the spirits are gone entirely (maybe they got bored; maybe they’re out for a walk; Klaus knows that wherever they’ve darted off to, they won’t be gone for long). But although they’re missing, a living figure now hovers near the end of his bed. He blinks. 

It’s Luther. 

Klaus’ face flushes. “Get out,” he tells his brother immediately, pointing towards the door. 

Luther crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t move to leave. “You have to tell him.” 

“I don’t have to do _anything_. Get. Out,” Klaus snarls in response, his voice climbing higher. Before he can think it over, he’s already reaching for his water. In an instant, he thrusts his glass towards the blond boy, dousing his face with the remaining liquid before setting the empty glass back on the counter next to him. Some of the water doesn’t make it far enough and dampens the end of Klaus’ blanket instead, but he doesn’t care. _“Traitor.”_

Luther simply takes it, allowing the water to hit him straight in the face. He doesn’t even sputter. “The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be.” Water drips into his face from the ends of his now-damp hair. 

“Uh, probably, yeah,” Klaus concedes sharply. “But that’s my decision anyway, isn’t it?”

“I knew you wouldn’t tell him unless someone pushed you to. I was only trying to help.” 

“I. Don’t. Care.” He briefly considers chucking the _glass_ at Luther’s head as well, though he knows it wouldn’t do any good. “Leave.” 

“It’s making you sick,” Luther tries emphatically, one last time. “Dad will know how to help you. He can solve your problems.”

Klaus wants to scream. Luther _really_ thinks that, and that’s the saddest part. “He might be able to solve yours, but I doubt he’d help solve mine.” 

His brother rolls his eyes. “Oh, because you’re so special?” His rhetorical question hangs in the air for a moment, until the tension in Klaus’ limbs snaps, and he deflates like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Luther doesn’t get it. He’ll never understand what it’s like, not to be Number One. 

Klaus sighs and slowly shakes his head. “Just… go.” His words convey only exhaustion. “Just go.” He curls up on his side, pulling the blanket up over his ears. He stares at the wall stubbornly until he hears Luther finally leave the room without another argument. 

Traitor. The word comes to him again. He can’t believe that Luther would… try to take away the miniscule amount of control Klaus was still managing to wrangle from his own situation. He didn’t choose to see the ghosts in the first place; he didn’t choose to be stalked by them all day; he didn’t choose to be the one to help them, like Mike thought he was meant to. But he _did_ choose to try to keep the little information he _did_ have contained, just to the people that he trusted. Which he assumed were his siblings. It was like Allison all over again, but worse; Allison had promised she’d help protect him from their father, and Luther had tried to deliver Klaus on a platter. Oh, but he’d only been trying to _help_ him. Sure. _At least it didn’t work,_ Klaus thinks, feeling smug yet still somehow heartbroken.

With too much to think about, he can’t find his way back to sleep. Nevertheless, he feels slightly better by the time the click of Mom’s heels signals her approach. “Klaus, dear?” A hand smooths back hair from the side of his face, where his head lays on the infirmary pillow. “You drank all your water, good. Can you sit up?” 

He does. She tests his forehead again, like she’d done before. “It’s about eleven o’clock. Almost time to take more medication, if you need it. Your fever’s down almost a degree. That’s good.” She cards her fingers through his hair again. The movement is comforting. “Are you hungry? I can warm up another bowl of soup.” 

“I don’t feel as terrible as I did earlier,” he tells her truthfully. “I’m okay without the soup. Maybe a roll? But thanks.” 

She smiles, pleased with his response. “Let’s grab a couple of rolls and get you back to your room, then. I’ll have you take some more fever reducer in the morning if you’re not back to thirty-seven degrees by then.” She leaves the room again. By the time Klaus has shuffled off his blanket and gotten his feet to the floor, Mom is already back with a plate of rolls in hand, complete with butter and his favorite strawberry jam. 

Carefully, she ushers him back upstairs to his bedroom, following close behind to make sure he doesn’t trip up the steps or on the carpet in the darkened hallway. She flicks his lightswitch on as they enter his room before placing the plate of food on his bedside table. “Goodnight, Klaus. Remember, come let me know if you start feeling ill again.” Mom opens one of the drawers of his dresser and pulls out a neatly folded pair of clean pajamas. She holds them out and Klaus accepts them, drawing the clothes close to his chest. “I know…” she begins, before pausing. It’s unconventional for her to seem so uncertain - she always knows what she wants to say. Before Klaus can consider it further, she continues. “I know your father is often hard on you. But he does care about you. So do I. I care about you very much.” 

Klaus clutches his pajamas more tightly. “I know, Mom,” he said, responding only to her final statement more than her speech as a whole. 

“As long as you’re sure.” The hint of something sad crosses her face, before she smiles again and heads towards the hallway, closing the door behind her. 

No one locks him in this time. 

Klaus sets the folded pajamas down on his bed and turns around to face the window. “Mike?” he says quietly, calling for the spirit. He knows the bicyclist can't have gone far. “I… can try to help you now. Like I promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers in this chapter: general emotional/verbal abuse; medical stuff (Klaus gets his blood pressure taken, etc); prescription drugs taken with the permission of an adult figure. I think that's it for this chapter.
> 
> In case it isn’t evident, the reason for Klaus’ fever is the shock to his system from discovering his powers in the first place, which then got worse after his episode of unconsciousness in the previous chapter. The pain-reliever / fever reducer that Mom gives him here impacts Klaus’ powers (even though he doesn’t recognize that’s what’s happening) because I think that, like, his ability is very much dependent on both his mental focus and his physical state, as I think I alluded to in one of the other end notes. Anything that alters his body chemistry affects the spirits’ presence, since he’s the one subconsciously calling them to the surface of the physical world. This is obviously upsetting foreshadowing for what will happen in a later fic in the series, because I like to make myself sad. 
> 
> Also, please note that I don't actually hate Luther 100% of the time; he is just coming from a very different place than the rest of the kids and thus warrants, I think, a little less sympathy - at least in this case. 
> 
> Gotta finish up Mike’s unfinished business in the next chapter, and then this one will close out so we can jump forward in time a bit to the next fic in the series. I for real think there will probably be only one more chapter here, but I've been wrong before, so I guess we'll see. 
> 
> As always, a guaranteed way to make my day is to say hi below or [here](http://wake-my-spirit-cold.tumblr.com). Tomorrow's Monday - let's get through this week, y'all.


	13. chapter thirteen: the conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-notes for chapter-specific trigger warnings!
> 
> This is it, the final chapter. It's a long one, because a) I couldn't find a good place to split it and b) something delighted me about having thirteen chapters in this thing.

Despite Klaus’ willing offer, Dead Mike is nowhere to be found. 

He calls out again. “...Mike?” Still nothing. It’s unsettling, that he’s gone, after having stalked Klaus all day without rest. 

Not sure what to do, he settles down on the edge of his bed, feet dangling towards the floor. He picks up the plate Mom brought up for him and uses the accompanying knife to spread a little bit of butter and a lot of jam on one of the sliced halves of a roll. He eats the whole thing, licking his fingers when he’s finished. 

He glances over at the neatly folded pair of pajamas atop his bed. Best not to get into them just yet, depending on what Mike needs him to do. If he ever shows up again. Klaus props himself up against the headboard and curls his knees towards his chest to wait. 

It must be nearly half an hour later when Mike reappears in the corner of Klaus’ room, in almost the exact same spot he’d appeared at first the night before. One second, the space is empty - and a split second later, the sulky bicyclist is _there._ It’s not like the kind of popping into reality that Five’s spatial-jumps look like, where he very clearly moves through the physical world from one place to the next. Instead, it’s more like Mike has been there the whole time, except for a curtain in front of Klaus shading him from view - and now the curtain has been lifted. 

Mike doesn’t address his unexpected absence, only immediately steps forward. _**“You’ll help me now.”**_

“I said I would.” Klaus pauses. He takes a moment to imagine all the horrifying possibilities that might come up before asking the question that he _really_ doesn’t want to know the answer to. “What do you want me to do?” The possibilities were nearly endless, thinking about what could be keeping Mike here. That’s how it worked, he assumed, like in the ghost stories - something was keeping him from ‘moving on’ and that’s why he was so obnoxious about getting assistance. Klaus might have to steal something, or… punish someone. Track down whoever hit Dead Mike with their car. Take revenge for him. All of which would not necessarily be easy tasks to complete as a nine-year-old. But it didn’t matter, did it? He’d said he’d help, so he couldn’t go back on his word. No matter how skeptical he was of what Mike might ask of him. 

_**“I need you to write a letter.”** _

That… wasn’t too bad. “That’s it?” He frowns. “Isn’t that a little… boring? Are you _sure_ that’s what it is?”

Dead Mike glowers at him. _**“I’m sure,”**_ he replies, somewhat patronizingly for a ghost. 

_Alright then._ Klaus moves to rummage through the pile of schoolwork on the chest of drawers near his door, pulling out a blank piece of paper, a book to use as a desk for his lap, and a pen, which he swiftly uncaps. He returns to his bed to sit cross-legged atop the covers. “Okay. Shoot. Except… wait. Is this going to get me in trouble? Like, should I wear gloves and avoid leaving fingerprints, or what?” Mike gives him another withering stare. “...alright, never mind then.” 

_**“Write this phone number.”**_ He recites a phone number, which Klaus carefully scribbles down. _**“Then write: Call about Mike Hammond. Ask for Kailey. Knows him as Mike Sheffield. Records in safety deposit box 54 at IBS. Key tucked in Mike’s green socks.”**_

“What color socks?” asks Klaus as he scrambles to catch up.

_**“Green.”** _

Klaus re-reads the notes he’s penned. “Okay, got it. I think. Check if you want.” He holds up the piece of paper for MIke to read. The spirit quickly skims the note before nodding. That was far more straightforward than Klaus had expected, honestly. “Who’s Kailey?” 

Mike seems reticent to reply, but he grunts and answers gruffly. _**“My daughter’s foster mother. She won’t recognize my name in the paper, so she’ll wonder why I didn’t ever show up again. I want to make sure she has closure.”**_

Klaus wonders why she didn’t know Dead Mike’s real name but doesn’t think it really matters, at this point. It’s halfway sweet, though, that the ghost thinks his unfinished business is to settle something with his daughter. It doesn’t make up for how aggressively and purposefully terrifying he’d been earlier, but it’s… something. “How old is she? Not Kailey, obviously. Your daughter.” 

_**“Almost twelve.”** _

Klaus nods, not sure how else to respond. “So…” he hedges. “Is that it? That’s all I have to do?” 

_**“And mail the letter.”** _

“Uh.” 

It isn’t as though there’s a mailbox out front. Father doesn’t trust the post service - it’s a security risk, apparently, anyone having access to the Umbrella Academy’s mailbox. So the only way that mail leaves the house, at least as far as Klaus knows, is through Pogo’s desk. He has a specific drawer for mail that comes into the house, which he checks before delivering to Hargreeves, and he has a separate drawer for mail that goes _out_ , which he _also_ checks before having Mom hand the mail directly to the one, specific post office employee who comes to the door once a week.

It always sounds a little overkill, but then again, Klaus has never needed to send a letter. Everyone he would want to talk to lives in the same house.

He can at least get Dead Mike’s letter addressed - and stamped - before he solves this particular problem. “I have to go grab an envelope. Just stay… here.” Leaving Mike’s dictated note on his bed, he exits his room, careful to close the door behind him. 

The hall is empty and dark - it must be nearly midnight. Klaus tiptoes past the other closed doors, conscious of avoiding the places where he knows the floorboards creak. He makes his way down and into the room that acts as Pogo’s first floor office. Unlike their father’s office, which remains locked with a key at night, Pogo’s is always open. Whether that’s because Pogo trusts the children or because he knows that there’s nothing there worth snooping around in, Klaus is never quite sure. It’s true that he’s never bothered to ‘break-in’ before; again, much like having to mail a letter, he’s never had the need to. 

Near the drawers where he knows Pogo keeps the mail are a small box of envelopes, and inside that, a half-used sheet of stamps. No one will notice one missing, right? Klaus silently peels off a stamp and affixes it to the corner of an envelope (hopefully the correct corner) before slipping out of the office, envelope-in-hand, and heading back towards the stairs. 

At which point he has to immediately clasp his _other_ hand over his mouth to stifle a shriek - because there, sitting on the steps in the dark, is the little Irish girl. 

Klaus takes a moment to let his heart rate settle back down before releasing his grip over his mouth. The other spirit, the older woman, is nowhere to be seen. It’s only the girl this time, her face where her face should be, staring at him curiously. Klaus tip-tops closer to the stairs so that he’s nearly level with her as she sits a few stairs up, her long black dress billowing around her knees. 

Her feet are bare. He hadn’t noticed that before. 

He knows that he should continue around her, up the stairs, without distraction. If he tries to talk to her, someone could wake up and ask questions about what he was doing out of bed with a stolen envelope in his hand. Mom might hear him. Or Pogo. Or worse. But just as she’s looking at him with curiosity, his own compels him to speak. “You disappeared,” he murmured. “Where did you go?”

She shakes her head, as if to disagree. 

Klaus moves up the stairs and lowers himself to her step. They both stare forwards down towards the front hallway. He quiets his voice even more, barely breathing the words. “I’m helping the other ghost now.” At least, he hopes he is. “I can try to help you next, okay?” If the spirits won’t go away on their own, maybe that’s the only way to _make_ them. And maybe in _this_ case, he could make it up to her, for how much he distressed her earlier in mentioning that she was dead. (That was probably in poor taste. Spiritual etiquette would take a while for him to get used to, he supposed.)

But the girl shakes her head again. Slower, this time. Another disagreement, but a mournful one. 

Klaus reaches over to pat her knee like he would if it were Vanya looking that sad, or Ben. Even though she doesn’t look transparent in the slightest, his hand goes straight through her leg and to the floor, with no resistance. He hastily pulls it back. “We’ll talk about it later.” Standing, he leaves her on the stairs - it seems as though she has no intention of following, for once - and continues to head to his room as stealthily as possible. 

He turns the brass knob of bedroom door slowly to reduce its rattling. When the door swings open, Five is standing over his bed, Mike’s note in hand. As soon as Klaus enters the room the ghost suddenly begins shouting. **_“Make him that down. Put that DOWN.”_** Mike’s good arm, the one that wasn’t dislocated in the bicycle accident, is angrily clawing through the air to try to grab the letter, but he’s unable to touch it, or Five. 

Klaus gives a long-suffering sigh, shutting his door once more with a creak before turning to Five. “Put that down so he’ll stop yelling.” He’d been feeling better, but suddenly his headache returns with a vengeance. He wishes he’d brought his glass of water from earlier upstairs with him. 

Five ignores him. “What’s this?” he asks, brandishing the note. 

Klaus snatches it from his hand - the corner of the piece of paper rips off and remains with Five, but at least it’s part of the page that wasn’t written on. “It’s his unfinished business. We think. Unconfirmed yet, since he’s, like, still here. And I haven’t mailed it.” He puts down the envelope so he can fold the letter with both hands before tucking it inside. “What are you doing in here?”

“You’re on quarantine. None of us are supposed to be in the same room with you for forty-eight hours - Dad’s orders. But I figured you’re not contagious.” 

“Luther’s fine with disobeying orders _now_ , huh,” Klaus can’t help but grumble.

Five smirks. “I saw him in wet clothes, with dripping hair, before he disappeared into his room, complete with a good old fashioned door-slam. I hoped that was because of you. Allison forced him to make an infirmary visit. Or, she didn’t _force_ him,” he indicated with his eyebrows, “but she did strongly encourage it. Diego and I bet that he wouldn’t actually apologize. Did he?”

“I don’t remember. If he did, it was a terrible apology.” 

_**“Make the boy leave.”** _

“Alright, give me a second. Five, I need you to leave. I have to finish this thing with Dead Mike.” 

“Sure, sure. You’re fine? No more…” He uses his hand to mime someone keeling over. 

Klaus gives him a small smile. “No, no more of that.” 

“See you tomorrow, then. Don’t do anything stupid.” Five squints in effort and then pops out of sight, slightly more jerkily than earlier. 

It’d been a long day for everyone.

Mike taps the envelope impatiently. _**“You need to address it.”**_ Klaus grabs his pen and writes down the address that Mike rattles off, leaving the return address blank. For a second time, he’s struck with the hope that no one tries to trace his fingerprints later. _**“Now mail it.”**_

“That’s the thing… if I put it in the mail pile, Pogo will notice it, and read it, and have questions.” 

_**“So take it to the mailbox.”**_ Mike says it like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“We don’t have one.” 

_**“The one on the end of your street.”** _

Klaus glances out the window. “No, that… I’d have to leave the house.”

_**“Yes, you will.”** _

“But…” he sputters. “That’s not allowed.” They can’t leave the Academy, not without supervision - and especially not at night. Klaus has broken rules plenty of times (usually with Diego in tow, or vice versa), but this is the Big Rule. The Biggest, in fact. Otherwise, he would have left the mansion to explore the city long ago. 

Dead Mike narrows his eyes, clearly impatient at being close to his problem’s resolution and unwilling to let any so-called “rules” get in the way of his letter being delivered. He opens his mouth and begins his howling once more. The sound is amplified with the force of his displeasure - far louder than any human should be able to scream, but then again, Klaus supposes he’s not exactly human. “Okay, okay,” he hisses, wincing. “I’m going, I’m going.” He bets Mike wouldn’t scream at his _daughter_ like that. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was just as irritable in life as in death. Regardless, he’s got to get this letter in the mail so he can make Mike’s anger _stop._

Klaus tucks the addressed letter inside his jacket, glances towards his bedroom window, but then heads for the hallway, with Mike and his wall of sound following close behind.All the windows that are able to open on the first floor are bolted shut for security’s sake, except the tiny one in the kitchen that Mom opens sometimes to let the breeze in. And that one’s _too_ tiny for Klaus to try to slip out. He’s fairly small, but he’s not a contortionist. So the first floor is out. And his bedroom window looks out over the courtyard - a nice view, but if he dropped to the ground from there, even though there’s a tree he could try to jump over to, he’d still be… stuck in the courtyard. 

The second-story bedroom windows facing the alley will be his best bet. So Klaus tip-toes down the hall again. It’s hard to tell if his footfall is making sound, because he can’t hear much of anything over Mike’s shrieking. None of the other doors open, so Klaus figures he’s safe enough, at least for now. Eventually he gets to the stretch of extra bedrooms. There are only a two on this floor - though more are up on the third and fourth floors of the Academy. (They were meant for the _other_ children, the ones that shared the siblings’ birthday, until their father had only managed to get ahold of seven.) The doors to the empty bedrooms on this floor are cracked open, though, so Klaus slips into the first one. 

He slips to the window and opens it, looking down to the dark alley below. Then he looks to the right. There’s a fire escape - handy. But it’ll be easier to get to if he exits the bedroom next door. He closes the window gently, which leads Mike to _increase_ in volume. “Calm down,” Klaus insists under his breath. “I’m just going to the other room. Your letter won’t _ever_ get in the mail if I end up a mess on the pavement.” He quickly migrates to the second empty bedroom and opens the same window, craning his neck out to make a plan. There - the fire escape seemed to snake down from the roof, with a small landing just outside this window. Klaus carefully steps out of the window and onto the steel grating, then begins to slowly descend the narrow staircase. 

Only a few steps down, the stairs end. A metal ladder is attached, which Klaus assumes one would unhook and flip down in case of fire. But it would be too loud to try to unlatch now, especially not knowing who might be down on the first floor below. Just underneath the fire escape, a few feet over, is an open dumpster. Dead Mike suddenly materializes next to it on the ground below, still howling but looking intently up at Klaus. “Alright, so I’m doing this,” he mumbles to himself before holding his breath - like he’s about to get dunked underwater - and squeezing his eyes shut. Before he can consider what might happen if he doesn’t make it far enough, he _jumps_.

He lands feet-first with a crash squarely inside in the dumpster, crumbling against a pile of trash bags. Something sharp inside one of them digs into Klaus’ side - that’ll probably leave a light bruise - but he’s surprisingly uninjured otherwise. Mike’s voice ceases instantly, apparently convinced that Klaus will finish the job, having made it this far. Thank goodness.

He feels inside his jacket to make sure the letter is still there - it is - before he awkwardly scales the side of the dumpster so he can crawl out. He clutches the top of the bin while he tries to swing his legs over the top, and he lowers himself as far as he can before making it to the alleyway below. As he falls from the edge of the dumpster, he slips, landing with his tailbone against the ground the back of his head smacking against the concrete. It wasn’t a far-enough fall to the ground to gain any real speed, but it still stung. _Smooth,_ he thinks, staring up at the night sky above him. In the darkness, Mike’s shadowed face comes into view. “Yeah, I’m getting up,” Klaus pre-emptively reassures the spirit. He hoists himself off the ground with a small groan and heads towards the street at the end of the alley, glowing with yellow light from the streetlamp farther down the road. 

The mailbox on the sidewalk is only two blocks away, straight down the street. Klaus remembers noticing it from the window of the car. (He could pinpoint every landmark on this street from memory, if he needed to, since they’d driven down it so often and he’d eagerly drunk up the sights each time.) The road is quiet at this time of night, with only the occasional taxi speeding past, and a car honking in the distance every once in a while. Klaus glances across to the opposite sidewalk and sees a pair of strangers chatting lowly to each other as they walk, but other than that, he and Mike are the only pedestrians on the block. 

He makes it to the street-corner without issue. It’s only once he crosses to the next block that Klaus realizes that they aren’t, in fact, the only pedestrians on their side of the sidewalk. 

“Hey, kid...” He turns to see a shadowy figure loitering in the doorway of the building to their right. “What are you doing out so late on your own?” Klaus feels a twinge of discomfort at being addressed and decides to ignore the stranger, keeping his gaze focused on the mailbox in the distance. 

He hears footsteps - real, physical footsteps - follow him. 

So Klaus instinctively begins to jog. 

The footfall picks up pace, too, and before he can make it to the mailbox, he feels a large hand on his shoulder, clutching the fabric of the jacket of his uniform. “Let go,” he demands, trying to twist out of the stranger’s grip. 

“You can’t be out on the street alone.” 

Klaus attempts to squirm out of his jacket - but if he does that, then he’ll lose the _letter,_ which is why he’s out here in the _first_ place. The stranger moves to grab Klaus’ arm instead, gripping it hard. “Don’t _touch_ me!” He tries to get a glimpse of the stranger’s face but it’s too dark, the street lamp is too far away. The mailbox is too far away. Even the mansion, a block and a half down at this point, is too far away. “Let _go_.” Klaus feels a burst of sheer panic. He tries to kick at the stranger’s shins, but his legs are too short. _“Help!”_

The next few seconds pass in a blur. Suddenly, Klaus is wrenched out of the stranger’s grip. The stranger hits the wall, then freezes for a moment, stunned. Maybe Klaus _did_ manage to kick him? And then Mike’s voice: **_“Go.”_**

Klaus goes. He sprints to the end of the street, his shoes pounding against the pavement almost as fast as his heartbeat is stuttering in his chest. He barely pauses to fling the drawer of the mailbox open while he pulls out the letter, crams it inside, lets the mailbox close again with a _clang_ , then continues his dash down the road. 

He can’t go back the way he came, not while the stranger is still there. “Hey, hey,” someone shouts at him. It’s a different voice this time, but again, he ignores it in favor of continuing his desperate sprint. He’s about to turn down an alley to try to cut down a block before he heads back when someone grabs the back of his jacket. _Not again._ This time, with the letter in the mail already, it doesn’t matter if he loses the uniform. Frenzied, he begins to twist his arms out but the person behind him releases his jacket and uses both hands to spin him around to face them. “Hey, calm down, it’s alright. I’m a police officer.” 

Out of breath, Klaus looks up to see a uniformed officer, badge and all. She doesn’t release her grip on his shoulders, holding him down gently as though he’ll try to skitter away. “A couple on this street saw a child get attacked. They called the emergency line. I was close by. I’m assuming they meant you. Are you hurt in any way?” 

Klaus, wide-eyed, doesn’t answer her. “If you’re hurt, you can tell me.” The police officer’s voice is warm and carefully coaxing. He shakes his head. “No. Okay.” She doesn’t argue with his assessment. “Can you tell me where you live so we can get you home?” 

Klaus opens his mouth and has to clear his throat before he can reply. “I can… get home myself. Thanks though.” While it _would_ , arguably, be nice to have a police escort, to make sure he didn’t have to fend off anymore strangers, he doubted the woman would let him slip back through a window in the Academy. He’d be caught for sure. 

“I can’t let you go off on your own. It’s part of my job to make sure you get home safely.”

He gives her what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Really, I’m good.” 

She kneels, so that her face is on his level. “Are you running away from home?” Her expression is serious. “If your home is dangerous, we can help you.” 

“No!” he hastens to assure her. “I just had to… I mean, I’m on my way home now.” 

“How about I walk you there?” 

“I really, _really_ don’t want you to.” 

“Scary situations really wear me out,” the officer replies conversationally. “I bet it would be nice to just get to bed, wouldn’t it? But I can’t ethically let you wander off on your own, not without making sure you get home safely. So either I can stay here with you, until your parents or guardians come looking, or you can let me walk you home.” 

Klaus can be overwhelmingly stubborn, when he wants to be. But from their very short exchange, he can tell that this woman can be, too. And she’s a police officer - it’s not like he can run away when she turns her back. He doubts he’d get very far. 

He ducks his head in reluctant defeat. “I’m from the Umbrella Academy,” comes his quiet admission. 

“Thank you. Can you tell me where that is?” Klaus sighs, and points down the street. “Let’s go, then.” 

The woman lets go of his shoulders and he walks beside her down the sidewalk, back towards the mansion. They pass the mailbox, where he’d mailed the letter. They pass the arched doorway where the stranger had been, at first - though he was nowhere to be found, now. They cross the street to the Academy’s block. And sooner rather than later, they reach the front steps of the mansion, with its front door inlaid with stained glass. 

Klaus curls into himself as they approach. This is not going to end well. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “I can get in myself from here,” he tries to tell her. 

The officer seems to sense his unease. “I’m sure your family will be happy you’re back in one piece,” she tells him, and before he can argue, she’s ascended the steps and pressed the doorbell. 

After what feels like an eternity, the door begins to open. Klaus hopes beyond all hope that it’s Mom who answers. Or Pogo. But of _course_ it isn’t. There, in all of his his maroon-robed, monocled displeasure, stands Reginald Hargreeves. “There had better be a good reason for such disturbance at this time of night,” he demands impatiently, his gaze fixed on the officer.

To the woman’s credit, her pleasant smile doesn’t falter. “Good evening - I’m Officer Patch. Sorry to bother you so late, but I was just making sure that your child got back to you safely.” She steps out of the doorway to gesture towards Klaus, standing on the darkened sidewalk.

“What is the meaning of this?” The sharp reprimand is tinged with anger. Klaus’ heart sinks.

“Not to worry,” the officer assures Hargreeves, completely misreading the cause of his irritation. “There was a report of an altercation - an attempted attack of some kind - but your son says he’s unharmed. He’s fine, sir.” 

“Get. Inside.” Klaus climbs the front steps as mournfully as a funeral march, passing the officer without a word. “Thank you for returning him in one piece. I’ll take it from here,” Hargreeves says, nearly slamming the door in the woman’s face. 

Mom hovers just behind Hargreeves, and Pogo, too. Klaus’ siblings have all begun to creep down the main staircase in their pajamas, having been woken from their sleep for a _second_ consecutive night. Klaus catches the Irish girl’s face amidst the small crowd. But their father doesn’t pay the others any mind as he whirls Klaus around. (Klaus is _so_ sick of other people touching him.) “Number Four,” he rumbles threateningly. _“Explain yourself.”_

There’s no point in lying. Nothing he comes up with will sound any more sensical than the actual reason he’d left in the middle of the night. Klaus’ voice doesn’t shake as he answers. “I had to mail a letter.”

“And it had to be mailed in the middle of the night.” 

“Sort of.” Otherwise he would have had to continue putting up with Dead Mike’s screeching. Where _was_ Mike? Klaus could only hope that with his letter in the mail, he was finally satisfied, and could go off and… do whatever it was that ghosts did when they weren’t stalking children. Klaus hastily adds, “I mean, I couldn’t put it in the mail pile. I didn’t want you or Pogo to read it. It... was full of important info, from a man who died.” He keeps talking, as though if he keeps up the flow of words, he won’t have to face any punishment. “It was the same man who showed up in my room last night? That’s the thing. It’s, uh... dead spirits have been talking to me. I’m pretty that’s… my ability.” 

Hargreeves grabs Klaus’ shoulder and squeezes, _hard_. “I’ve warned you about inventing stories. Don’t lie.” 

His hand raises menacingly, but he pauses mid-motion when another voice chimes in. “He’s not lying.” Five speaks up quickly as he descends the stairs towards the grand hall. In his grip, he clutches a few sheets of loose-leaf paper, which he holds out towards their father. “I took notes, all day. We were all skeptical. But he proved it, more than once.”

Hargreeves doesn’t move to take the notes. He only hums disdainfully, obviously unconvinced. 

This time it’s Allison who speaks up in Klaus’ defense. “I can prove it, sir.” She descends the stairs as well, approaching Klaus and their father. “With permission?”

“Permission granted,” Hargreeves replies, skepticism evident in his tone. 

Allison turns to face Klaus. “I heard… a rumor,” she says, using the key words that were usually effective, “that you told Dad the truth about today.” 

Before he can explain that he’d rather confess on his _own terms,_ the story spills from his lips. “A stranger was in my bedroom, shouting at me and asking for help. He was bleeding and looked like the bicyclist I saw on the street from the car the other day. I wasn’t making it up. At breakfast, he was terrifying. The others all saw, and they told me to ask his name. He said it was Mike Hammond, which matched the newspaper story that Five had in his hand. That was the point that we realized he was dead. He followed me all day, and when I was reading with Ben in the library, two more spirits showed up, a woman and a girl. They speak mostly Irish and I think maybe they lived here. When I tried to talk to them later, I passed out. Five was there. Then at supper, Luther tried to lead me into telling you the truth, because he’s the worst, but I was terrified of you more than of the ghosts. After supper, I wrote Mike’s letter for him, which I think was his unfinished business, but I had to sneak out of the mansion to mail it. I took the fire escape and fell into the dumpster. On the street, a stranger tried to grab me, although I got away, until the police officer found me. Mike’s disappeared now, and so has the woman though she’s probably still around, and the little Irish girl is next to Diego on the stairs. I wish I couldn’t see them and I’m afraid of your reaction, so I didn’t want to tell you any of this and I’m _also_ angry that Allison is making me, sorry, Allison.” He stops and bends over, putting his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath. 

“Sorry, Klaus,” Allison whispers in his ear. 

But since Klaus confessed under Allison’s rumored demand for _truth,_ when he looks up, their father appears… contemplative. 

He reaches out to take the offered notes from Five. “Thank you, Number Five,” he says, calmly. “We’ll reconvene in the morning. Pogo, tentatively put Number Four on the training rotation. Now, to bed. All of you.” 

Klaus is stunned. No… punishment? No scolding? Though he supposed that might still come tomorrow. And he still had to worry about whatever ‘training’ would entail, which almost certainly be… less than fun. But for now, this is… well, he’d nearly call it miraculous. 

He’s still frozen in disbelief when Allison reaches out to take his hand and tug him intently towards the stairs, as if to pull him up to his room before their father can change his mind. He follows her up the stairs without resistance. In the hall below, he can hear their father murmuring to both Pogo and Mom, but he can’t make out what they’re saying - not that he cares either way, as long as their direct attention isn’t focused on him. 

As he and Allison reach the group of his siblings and they all turn to go back up to their rooms, Ben gives him a small sleepy smile. Diego, delighted at Klaus’ quick escape, nudges him in the ribs. Vanya gives him an inscrutable nod before heading down the hall to her own room. Luther avoids his gaze, and Five pops out of reality and presumably back to his own room without a word. Allison, still holding Klaus’ hand, squeezes it as another silent apology before heading to her room as well. 

The upstairs hallway clears remarkably fast, leaving Klaus, still stunned at the rapidfire turn of events, alone in the middle of the corridor. 

_**“Klaus?”**_ It’s the little girl, her voice decidedly optimistic. 

“Yeah. I think that went about as well as expected, too,” he tells her, before heading to his own bed for a well-deserved and hopefully dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings: attempted child abduction (when Klaus is on the street), threat of child abuse (from Hargreeves, as always), and non-consensual rumoring by Allison on Klaus (I feel like mind-control is a thing that counts as a trigger in some regard, even if it's just rumoring him to say something). 
> 
> Fic notes:
> 
> It took a bit for Mike to show up again because that’s how long it took for the medicine Klaus took to wear off. The spirits don’t exist on the corporeal plane when Klaus isn’t summoning them (either consciously or unconsciously, all three of these ghosts being an example of the latter).
> 
> Klaus honestly would have gotten caught by his father even without the whole almost-getting-abducted incident, because there’s no way to get back into the Academy except the front door, which would be locked. He would have realized that and had to wait on the front steps for morning, at which point he would have had to knock and hope Pogo would answer and not ask questions (which he would have). The police officer is Eudora’s mom, by the way.
> 
> I also know that kids aren't automatically attacked by strangers when they're on their own lmao but they live in a city and it's late at night. It happens. Plus it gave me a good reason to hint that Klaus can make the ghosts materialize physically if he wants, even if he didn't realize that he did in this instance. 
> 
> Can’t wait to write the training-with-Hargreeves fic - I'll post it as a continuation in this series, if you're interesting in following to the next segment. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and joining along with this ride for the last thirteen chapters. I had a fabulous time writing this story and I appreciate each kudos and every single comment y'all have left. It's nice to have something you invented get validated by actual real life people. I love you all to pieces. Bye for now xx


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